michallendenblogs

[michallendenblogs]

Gosaikunda Trek: A Comedy of Errors (And Some Nice Views)

By Michal Lenden

Let me start by saying this: if you ever feel like your life is too easy, just go trekking in Nepal. Better yet, drag your friends along so they can suffer with you.

That’s exactly what I did.

I, Michal Lenden (a person who once thought "walking uphill for days sounds fun"), convinced my equally delusional friends—Mille, Ben, and Thomas—to join me on the Gosaikunda Trek. Spoiler: We lived. But not without trauma.

The Beginning: False Confidence and Jeeps That Hate You

Our journey started in Kathmandu, where we naively piled into a jeep bound for Dhunche. Seven hours. Seven. Hours. Of what can only be described as a mechanical bull ride disguised as a road. At one point, I was airborne, and not in a fun way. Mille, ever the optimist, cheerfully announced, "This is character-building!" while Ben white-knuckled the seat and Thomas, the human golden retriever of our group, grinned like this was the best day of his life.

By the time we reached Dhunche, my spine had more twists than a pretzel. But hey, at least the hotel had beds. Sort of.

The Trek: Where "Uphill" Became a Four-Letter Word

The next morning, fueled by questionable tea and sheer willpower, we started walking. And by walking,  I mean climbing. Relentlessly.Within minutes, my lungs staged a protest. "We didn’t sign up for this!" they wheezed. Thomas, of course,  bounded ahead like a mountain goat on espresso, leaving the rest of us to question our life choices. Mille kept saying, "It’s not that bad!" while visibly dying inside. Ben distracted himself by taking approximately 4,000 photos of the same mountain.At some point, I turned to Ben and gasped, "Remind me why we’re doing this?" He paused, considered, then said, "Instagram." Fair.

Altitude: Nature’s Way of Humiliating You

As we climbed higher, the air got thinner, and my dignity evaporated. Every step felt like wading through syrup while wearing a backpack full of bricks. At one point, I genuinely considered crawling. Then, finally—finally—we saw it. Gosaikunda Lake. Glittering. Serene. Mocking us with its beauty. We collapsed by the shore, a pathetic heap of exhaustion and accomplishment. Mille tried to meditate but gave up because "the ground is cold and my legs don’t work." Ben continued his photography obsession. Thomas, because he’s a monster, did push-ups. Push-ups. At 4,380 meters. I hate him.

The Descent: Knees Are Overrated Anyway

You’d think going down would be easier. You’d be wrong. My knees made noises that belonged in a horror movie. Every step was a negotiation: "If you just get me to the bottom, I swear I’ll never do this again." (This was a lie. I’ll probably do it again.) By the time we stumbled back into Dhunche, we were a mess of blisters, sweat, and questionable body odor. We celebrated with dal bhat—because nothing says "I survived" like unlimited carbs—and reflected on our shared trauma.

So… Was It Worth It?

Yes.

Would I do it again? Ask me when my legs stop screaming at me.

Gosaikunda was equal parts breathtaking and brutal—a test of friendship, endurance, and how many times you can say "I’m fine" through gritted teeth before someone calls your bluff.

To anyone thinking of doing this trek: Do it. But maybe train first. And bring chocolate. Lots of chocolate.Pro tip: if you want to go trek in Nepal don’t miss to go Nepal mountain adventure. This is the best trekking company in Nepal, the accommodation is best, and the facilities are good. I was going with the other company before, but the trek accommodation and facilities are not good as much I think but when I go with Nepal mountain adventure my imagination got matc

[michallendenblogs]

Yala Peak: Where I Learned Ice Axes are Heavy and Regret is Free

By Michal

Let’s start with a confession: when my guide Sanjay called Yala Peak "a friendly starter climb," I should’ve known it was Himalayan code for "you’ll weep into your thermos at 5,000 meters."

My partner-in-suffering? Sanjay—a man whose calves defy physics and who smiles while ascending vertical ice. Our mission: summit Nepal’s 5,500m "gentle giant" in Langtang Valley. Spoiler: gentle is a lie.

Phase 1: Denial (and the Bus Ride from Kathmandu That Shook My Soul)

The "adventure" began with a 7-hour bus ride to Syabrubesi on a road that felt like a washing machine full of rocks. Sanjay meditated peacefully. I practiced breathing exercises to avoid vomiting into my neighbor’s lap.

The first days through Langtang Valley were all sunshine and delusion: rhododendron forests, suspiciously cheerful yaks, and teahouses serving momos (dumplings that taste like heaven at 2,500m). "This trekking thing is easy," I bragged, as Sanjay grinned and pointed to a distant pointy peak. "That’s Yala. We sleep there tomorrow." The peak looked like a frozen shark fin.

Phase 2: Bargaining (With Altitude and a Goat Named Steve)

At Kyanjin Gompa (3,800m), reality arrived like a slap:

The air thinned.

My water bottle froze overnight.

A goat named Steve blocked the trail, chewing my map while staring into my soul.

Sanjay: "He likes you!" Steve: *Spits out map* Me: "I feel judged."

Training day was a blur of:

Crampon practice (walking like a duck on steroids).

Ice axe lessons (Sanjay: "Swing like you mean it!" Me: *gently taps ice*).

Sanjay eating my chocolate stash "for energy."

Phase 3: Terror (The Night My Toes Went Rogue)

Summit day started at 2 AM. Temps: -10°C. My headlamp beam shook like a disco ball. For hours, we crawled up the glacier, roped together like doomed astronauts. Every creak of the ice sounded like the mountain clearing its throat.

Sanjay: "Don’t look down!" Me: *Looks down. Sees abyss.* My lungs: *Formal resignation letter*

Then dawn cracked open the sky. Pink light hit the summit, and suddenly—BAM—we were on top. Tibet’s Shishapangma glowed in the distance, prayer flags snapped in the wind, and Steve the goat was (probably) judging us from afar. I may have hugged Sanjay. (He smelled like yak cheese and victory.)

Phase 4: Bliss (and the Descent of Shame)

Going down was a circus act:

Me: crab-walking backward like a startled spider.

Sanjay: gracefully gliding while humming "Hakuna Matata."

My knees: audibly plotting revenge.

Back in Kyanjin Gompa, a teahouse grandma force-fed us dal bhat and milk tea. As I inhaled my fourth plate, Sanjay whispered: "Island Peak next?" I threw a momo at his forehead.

The Takeaway: Frostbite and Life Lessons

Yala Peak taught me:

"Beginner-friendly" means "you’ll cry, but prettily."

Goats are the Himalayas’ truest philosophers (Steve���s stare haunts me).

Sanjay deserves sainthood (or at least my leftover Snickers).

Summit views erase all suffering... until the descent.

Would I do it again? Ask me when my toes regain feeling. But staring across the Tibetan Plateau while sipping thermos tea? That sticks to your soul like dal bhat to a hungry trekker

Pro tip: if you want to go trek in Nepal don’t miss to go Nepal mountain adventure. This is the best trekking company in Nepal, the accommodation is best, and the facilities are good. I was going with the other company before, but the trek accommodation and facilities are not good as much I think but when I go with Nepal Mountain Adventure my imagination got match

[michallendenblogs]

Gokyo Lakes Trek: Where Turquoise Waters Meet Existential Crises

By Michal

Let’s start with a cold, hard truth: yaks are the mafia of the Himalayas. They block trails, judge your life choices, and stare at your snacks like they’re auditing your soul. This is the story of how I survived their tyranny—and the Gokyo Lakes’ glacial charm—with my friend Deepa, a human GPS with a concerning love for steep hills.

Phase 1: Denial (and the Lukla Airport Wake-Up Call)

The adventure began in Lukla, home to the world’s most chaotic runway. Picture a postage stamp glued to a cliff. Deepa high-fived the pilot; I white-knuckled my armrest and mentally apologized to my parents for every reckless life decision.

The first two days were all dewy rhododendron forests and cozy teahouses. We ate apple pies in Namche Bazaar, sipped lemon tea by roaring rivers, and I thought, “This trekking thing is a breeze!” Then Day 3 arrived. The trail to Dole turned into a staircase designed by a sadist. By hour two, my thighs were drafting resignation letters. Deepa, fueled by almonds and delusional optimism, chirped, “Think of the views, Michal!” I mostly thought about pushing her into the Dudh Koshi River.

Phase 2: Bargaining (With Altitude and a Yak Named Karen)

At 4,000 meters, the air got stingy. We passed stone villages where kids sold handmade bracelets and elderly Sherpas chuckled at our heaving breaths. Then, near Machhermo, we met her: Karen, a yak with resting boss face. She parked herself mid-trail, chewing lazily as if to say, “This is my empire. Pay the toll.” Deepa offered a granola bar. Karen sniffed it and walked off. (Rude.)

That night, we bunked in a teahouse run by a Sherpa grandma who fed us garlic soup “for altitude.” Deepa claimed it tasted “earthy.” I said it tasted like regret. (It was just garlic.)

Phase 3: Desperation (and the Night the Stars Stole My Grumpiness)

In Gokyo, the cold crept into my bones like a stalker. I wore every layer I owned, including socks as mittens. Deepa dragged me outside at midnight. The Milky Way was so vivid, it looked like someone had shaken a glitter jar over the sky. We stood there, shivering, until she whispered, “This is why we suffer.”

I didn’t admit it, but she was right.

Phase 4: Revelation (AKA Gokyo Ri’s Dirty Little Secret)

The climb to Gokyo Ri (5,357m) was… well, imagine running a marathon after eating a Thanksgiving dinner. In lead boots. Deepa bounded ahead like a mountain goat on espresso. I adopted the “angry sloth” strategy—three steps, wheeze, curse capitalism, repeat.

But then—bam—the summit. The Gokyo Lakes glittered below like shattered sapphires, and Everest’s sharp face pierced the horizon. Deepa unfurled a prayer flag she’d smuggled in her pack. “For luck,” she said. I added a rock to the cairn, half for karma, half to say, “Karen, I win.”

Phase 5: Descent (Or, How My Knees Became Mortal Enemies)

Going down was a masterclass in humility. My joints popped like bubble wrap, and Deepa’s pep talks devolved into, “Just… slide on your butt?” But then—magic. We stumbled upon the Ngozumpa Glacier at golden hour, its ice glowing like liquid amber. We sat on a boulder, sharing a Snickers, and I realized something: pain fades. Awe sticks to your ribs like dal bhat.

The Takeaway: Frozen Toes and a Soul on Fire

The Gokyo Lakes Trek isn’t just a hike. It’s:

Yaks judging your snack choices

Sherpa grandmas who know your soul needs garlic

Ice so blue it rewires your brain

The humbling truth that “easy” is a lie, but “worth it” is gospel

Would I do it again? Ask me when my toes thaw. But here’s the truth: sometimes you need to lose feeling in your extremities to find a little perspective.

As for Karen the yak? Rumor has it she’s still out there, extorting granola bars from trembling trekkers.

Need-to-Know Nitty-Gritty

Permits: Sagarmatha National Park ($30) + TIMS ($20). Pro tip: Bribe yaks with apples.

Best Time: Oct-Nov or Mar-Apr. Winter is for polar bears.

Gear: -10°C sleeping bag, knee braces, and a Snickers stockpile.

Solo? Doable, but hire a guide ($25/day) unless you speak fluent yak.

Wildcard: Helicopter rescue fantasies included free with altitude

Pro tip: if you want to go trek in Nepal don’t miss to go Nepal mountain adventure. This is the best trekking company in Nepal, the accommodation is best, and the facilities are good. I was going with the other company before, but the trek accommodation and facilities are not good as much I think but when I go with Nepal mountain adventure my imagination got match

[michallendenblogs]

Humla Limi Valley Trek: Yaks, Yak Cheese, and the Art of Surviving Your Own Stupidity

By Michal

Let’s get this straight: if the Gokyo Lakes were a chilly slap of reality, the Humla Limi Valley Trek is like getting dunked into a bucket of ice water while someone yells, “This is character-building!” My accomplice? Anika, a friend who claims she’s “into cultural immersion” but is really just a history nerd with a knack for getting lost. Together, we ventured into Nepal’s far northwest—a place so remote, even Google Maps shrugs.

Phase 1: Denial (and a Suspiciously “Scenic” Flight)

The journey began with a flight to Simikot, where the runway is shorter than my patience. Anika spent the ride gushing about “Tibetan influence!” while I death-gripped my armrest, convinced the pilot was a stunt double. From there, we trekked to Dharapori, a village where the trails are 50% rocks, 50% goat poop. “This is authentic,” Anika declared, as I tripped over a boulder.

Day one was all blue skies and hubris. We ambled past barley fields and kids selling chhurpi (yak cheese harder than my life choices). Then the trail tilted upward like a passive-aggressive ex. By hour four, my calves staged a coup. Anika, fueled by trail mix and historical trivia, chirped, “Think of the ancient trade routes!” I mostly thought about feeding her to the nearest yak.

Phase 2: Bargaining (With Altitude and a Goat Named Boris)

At 3,800 meters, the air turned spiteful. We crossed rickety bridges over rivers that roared like my stomach after yak cheese. Then came the Limi Valley—a land of stone villages, fluttering prayer flags, and a goat named Boris who judged us harder than my therapist.

Boris blocked the trail, chewing lazily as if to say, “You paid money for this?” Anika attempted diplomacy with an apple. Boris took the apple and sauntered off, leaving us to wonder if we’d just been scammed by livestock.

Phase 3: Desperation (and a Teahouse with Zero Chill)

In Til, we bunked in a teahouse run by a woman who laughed at our chapped lips and served tsampa (roasted barley flour) with the enthusiasm of a drill sergeant. “Eat. For altitude,” she barked. Anika claimed it tasted “earthy.” I said it tasted like dirt. (It’s literally dirt.)

That night, the cold crept into my sleeping bag like a stalker. Anika dragged me outside to see the Milky Way—a glitter bomb so intense, it felt like the sky was flexing. We stood there, shivering, until she whispered, “Centuries ago, traders walked these paths with salt and silk.” I whispered back, “Where’s their ibuprofen?”

Phase 4: Revelation (Or, How a Mountain Stole My Ego)

The climb to Nara La Pass (4,620m) was… well, imagine climbing a staircase of ice and regret while carrying a backpack of existential dread. Anika bounded ahead, quoting Sherpa poetry. I adopted the “angry sloth” pace, pausing every three steps to wheeze and question capitalism.

But then—bam—the summit. The Humla Karnali River snaked through valleys below, and the Tibetan Plateau stretched out like a crumpled blanket. Anika unfurled a prayer flag she’d carried from Kathmandu. “For the traders,” she said. I added a rock to the cairn, half for luck, half to say, “I survived Boris.”

Phase 5: Descent (AKA The Great Knee Rebellion of 2023)

Going down was a masterclass in humility. My knees sounded like a popcorn machine, and Anika’s pep talks devolved into, “Just… crawl?” But then—magic. We stumbled into Halji, home to a 12th-century monastery where monks chanted as butter lamps flickered. A kid with dirt-smudged cheeks handed me a wildflower. No words, just a grin. It’s the closest I’ve felt to enlightenment.

The Takeaway: Frostbite, Friendship, and a Goat’s Unwavering Side-Eye

The Humla Limi Valley Trek isn’t a hike. It’s yak caravans clinking with bells, the way a shared thermos of tongba (millet beer) turns strangers into family, and the humbling truth that “remote” means “your comfort zone is not invited.”

Would I do it again? Ask me when my toes regain feeling. But here’s the truth: the hardest trails carve the deepest memories. Also, blisters.

As for Boris? Last I heard, he’s still in Limi, hustling apples from clueless trekkers.

Pro tip:

 if you want to go trek in Nepal don’t miss to go Nepal mountain adventure. This is the best trekking company in Nepal, the accommodation is best, and the facilities are good. I was going with the other company before, but the trek accommodation and facilities are not good as much I think but when I go with Nepal mountain adventure my imagination got match

[michallendenblogs]

Title: "Nar Phu Valley Trek: Yaks, Snacks, and the Art of Not Falling Off a Mountain

Intro: The Call of the Wild(ly Unprepared) Let’s be honest: when my friend Dave suggested trekking Nepal’s Nar Phu Valley—a remote Himalayan gem—I thought he meant Narnia. Turns out, it’s real, requires actual hiking, and involves yaks. But with a crew of equally questionable decision-makers (Sarah, Emma, and Gadget Dave), we signed up. Our mission: adventure, cultural immersion, and surviving Emma’s bottomless snack stash.

The Team: A Humanitarian Comedy

Michal (Me): Optimistic narrator with a knack for tripping over pebbles.

Dave: Human Swiss Army knife. Brought a solar-powered espresso maker. For the wilderness.

Sarah: Instagram shaman. “Wait, let me get the lighting right on this yak!”

Emma: Snack Sorceress. Carried 17 types of trail mix. Bless her.

We partnered with a local NGO, pledging to pack out trash and support village homestays. Because nothing says “saving the planet” like eating dal bhat in a woolen sock hat.

Day 1: Kathmandu to Koto – “The Road That Shook Our Souls (And Bladders)”

Plan: Scenic 8-hour drive to Koto. Easy, right? Reality: Nepal’s roads are less “scenic route,” more “extreme pinball.” Sarah vowed to “never trust Google Maps again,” while Dave’s espresso maker launched itself into the abyss. We mourned with Emma’s gummy bears.

Our guide, Raj, taught us namaste means “I bow to the divine in you.” We bowed to every pothole.

Day 3: Meta Village – “Altitude, Attitude, and a Goat Named Steve”

Plan: Trek to Meta (3,560m). Soak in alpine views. Reality: Oxygen? Overrated. By hour two, I was gasping like a goldfish, while Sarah debated with a disinterested yak. Emma distributed “altitude chocolates” (read: bribes to keep moving).

Comedy Gold: We met a local herder who introduced us to his goat, Steve. Dave tried to pet it. Steve disagreed. Cue a Himalayan game of tag.

Day 5: Nar Village – “How to Barter Like a Toddler”

Plan: Cultural immersion in Nar’s ancient Tibetan-style village. Reality: We attempted to trade Dave’s second espresso maker (he brought backups) for a handmade rug. The village elder smiled, handed us butter tea, and said, “Keep the machine. You need caffeine more than we do.”

Humanitarian Moment: We donated school supplies to kids. Sarah cried. Dave cried. Steve the goat ate Sarah’s hat.

The morning of the pass dawned with snowflakes and skepticism. Emma’s snack bag had dwindled to “emergency gummies,” and Dave’s remaining espresso maker had finally succumbed to frostbite. As we trudged up switchbacks, Sarah muttered, “If I die here, tell my followers I looked ethereal.”

Halfway up, Steve the goat reappeared, trailing the herder like a furry supervillain. He bleated mockingly as I face-planted into a snowdrift. But at the summit, even Steve couldn’t ruin the view—glacial peaks, prayer flags, and Emma’s triumphant fist-pump with a granola bar.

Humanitarian Win: We packed out trash from the pass, including a rogue sock Sarah swore wasn’t hers.

The Descent: “Gravity, Gratitude, and Goodbyes”

Going downhill should be easier, right? Wrong. My knees staged a mutiny, Dave invented a new swear word combo, and Sarah Instagrammed a rock she called “my soulmate.” Back in Nar, villagers threw us a farewell dinner of dal bhat and raksi (local moonshine). Steve watched from a distance, plotting his revenge.

We left our gear for the village—except Dave’s espresso maker. Some bonds are unbreakable.

Epilogue: The Ghost of Steve (and Lessons Learned) The Nar Phu Valley didn’t just test our stamina—it taught us that humanity thrives in shared absurdity. From bartering fails to yak selfies, we learned that “cultural exchange” sometimes means letting a goat eat your hat.

So, go. Laugh at the chaos. Pack out your trash. And if you see Steve… run.

The Call of the Wild(ly Unprepared) Let’s be honest: when my friend Dave suggested trekking Nepal’s Nar Phu Valley—a remote Himalayan gem—I thought he meant Narnia. Turns out, it’s real, requires actual hiking, and involves yaks. But with a crew of equally questionable decision-makers (Sarah, Emma, and Gadget Dave), we signed up. Our mission: adventure, cultural immersion, and surviving Emma’s bottomless snack stash.

The Team: A Humanitarian Comedy

Michal (Me): Optimistic narrator with a knack for tripping over pebbles.

Dave: Human Swiss Army knife. Brought a solar-powered espresso maker. For the wilderness.

Sarah: Instagram shaman. “Wait, let me get the lighting right on this yak!”

Emma: Snack Sorceress. Carried 17 types of trail mix. Bless her.

We partnered with a local NGO, pledging to pack out trash and support village homestays. Because nothing says “saving the planet” like eating dal bhat in a woolen sock hat.

Epilogue: The Ghost of Steve (and Lessons Learned)

The Nar Phu Valley didn’t just test our stamina—it taught us that humanity thrives in shared absurdity. From bartering fails to yak selfies, we learned that “cultural exchange” sometimes means letting a goat eat your hat.

So, go. Laugh at the chaos. Pack out your trash. And if you see Steve… run.

[michallendenblogs]

Mera Peak Climb: Conquering Nepal’s Highest Trekking Peak

Introduction

Standing tall at 6,476 meters (21,247 feet), Mera Peak is the highest trekking peak in Nepal and one of the most rewarding non-technical climbs in the Himalayas. Located in the remote Hinku Valley of the Everest region, this expedition offers an incredible opportunity for adventure seekers to experience high-altitude mountaineering while being surrounded by some of the world’s tallest mountains, including Everest, Lhotse, Makalu, Kanchenjunga, and Cho Oyu. Unlike more technical climbs like Island Peak or Ama Dablam, Mera Peak is accessible to trekkers with basic mountaineering skills, making it an ideal challenge for those looking to push their limits without extreme climbing risks. The journey takes you through pristine forests, glacial valleys, and traditional Sherpa villages, far from the crowded trails of the Everest Base Camp trek.

Why Climb Mera Peak?

1. Unmatched Himalayan Views

Few places on Earth offer such a 360-degree panorama of 8,000-meter peaks. From the summit, you can see:

Mount Everest (8,848m) – The world’s highest peak

Lhotse (8,516m) – Everest’s neighbor

Makalu (8,485m) – The fifth-highest mountain

Kanchenjunga (8,586m) – The world’s third-highest

Cho Oyu (8,188m) – One of the "easiest" 8,000ers

2. A True Adventure Off the Beaten Path

While the Everest Base Camp route sees thousands of trekkers each year, the Hinku Valley remains remote and untouched. You’ll trek through:

Dense rhododendron and pine forests

Alpine meadows with grazing yaks

Glacial moraines and high-altitude lakes

Traditional Sherpa and Rai villages

3. Perfect for Aspiring Mountaineers

Mera Peak is often called a "trekking peak," but don’t underestimate it—it’s still a serious high-altitude climb. However, with:

No extreme technical sections (only basic snow climbing)

Guided training in ice axe and crampon use

Gradual acclimatization ...it’s an excellent first Himalayan summit for those dreaming of bigger peaks like Island Peak or even Ama Dablam.

Detailed Itinerary: What to Expect

Day 1-3: Kathmandu to Lukla & Trek to Paiya (2,730m)

Flight to Lukla (2,860m): One of the world’s most thrilling airport landings.

Trek to Paiya: Descend through lush forests, cross suspension bridges, and stay in cozy teahouses.

Day 4-7: Into the Hinku Valley (Tagnag & Khare)

Cross Zatra La Pass (4,610m): A challenging but rewarding climb into the remote Hinku Valley.

Acclimatization in Tagnag (4,360m): Rest day with short hikes to adjust to altitude.

Arrive at Khare (5,045m): Base for Mera Peak training.

Day 8-9: Glacier Training & High Camp (5,780m)

Ice Climbing Practice: Learn how to use crampons, ice axes, and ropes on the nearby glacier.

Ascend to High Camp: A steep climb setting the stage for summit day.

Day 10: Summit Push (6,476m) & Descent

2 AM Start: Climb under a starry sky with headlamps.

Sunrise at the Summit: The ultimate reward—panoramic Himalayan views.

Return to Khare: Celebrate with your team!

Day 11-14: Trek Back to Lukla & Fly to Kathmandu

Retrace steps through the Hinku Valley

Final night in Lukla before flying back to Kathmandu**

How Difficult is Mera Peak?

Fitness Level Required

✔ High endurance – 5-7 hours of trekking daily at altitude. ✔ Strong cardiovascular fitness – Steep climbs at 5,000m+ are demanding. ✔ Mental resilience – Summit day is long and cold.

Technical Difficulty

✔ Beginner-friendly – No prior climbing experience needed (training provided). ✔ Glacier travel – Basic rope skills and crampon use required. ✔ Altitude challenge – Proper acclimatization is crucial.

Best Time to Climb Mera Peak

1. Spring (April-May)

Stable weather with clear skies.

Warmer temperatures than autumn.

Best for photography with blooming rhododendrons.

2. Autumn (October-November)

Crisp, dry conditions – ideal for climbing.

Fewer clouds for unobstructed mountain views.

Popular season – more trekkers on the trail.

Avoid monsoon (June-Sept) and winter (Dec-Feb) due to snow and extreme cold.

·      

Permits & Logistics

Required Permits:

Sagarmatha National Park Entry Permit

Mera Peak Climbing Permit

Local Area Permit (Hinku Valley Restricted Zone)

Guided vs. Independent Climb?

While experienced climbers may attempt Mera Peak solo, a guided expedition is highly recommended for: ✔ Safety (crevasse navigation, altitude sickness management). ✔ Logistical support (permits, food, accommodations). ✔ Training  (ice axe, crampon, and rope skills).

Final Thoughts: Is Mera Peak Worth It?

Absolutely! If you’re looking for: ✅   A non-technical but challenging Himalayan climb. ✅   Solitude away from crowded Everest trails. ✅  The most breathtaking mountain views in Nepal.

...then Mera Peak should be at the top of your adventure list.

Ready to take on Nepal’s highest trekking peak? 🏔️