Kalypso

For years we’d dreamed of going to the Himalayas on an exploratory expedition, but the idea of joining a line of climbers on a commercial mountain never really excited us. Our goal was to find a place where no one had ever set foot. We often tried to gather information from those who had already been there, but unfortunately, not all climbers are willing to reveal their secrets, so the idea of a trip to Nepal always fizzled out before it even got off the ground. This year, however, we finally made it happen: thanks to the right contact, we received the information we needed to begin our search.

The suggestion of a few valleys where some peaks are still unclimbed is just the starting point; from here, you need to mark the spots on the map, figure out if and how these places can be reached, sort out inconsistencies in names, photos, and elevations associated with each peak, and then identify key contacts, such as local agencies or on-site lodge owners, who can assist with logistics.

Thus, our research led us to discover the Sharphu Range: a range of several 6,000-meter peaks in the Kangchenjunga Valley, in the far northeast of Nepal, bordering Tibet to the north and India to the east. Our initial goal was Sharphu III, a mountain of about 6,200 meters that had yet to be climbed. A few days before our departure, however, the Nepalese agency we had hired to handle permits and domestic transportation informed us that in the Himalayan Database, the reference source for issuing climbing permits, the peak was erroneously listed as 6,800 meters high, which caused the cost of the permit to skyrocket by several thousand dollars. Although the photos in our possession clearly showed that Sharphu III was lower than the surrounding peaks, officially under 6,500 meters. Our humble photo didn’t have the power to change the Nepalese database in a week! So we decided to shift our focus to a different objective: Sato Peak, which also stands at an elevation of about 6,200 meters and is geographically accessible from the same area.

To climb a mountain in Nepal, you first have to “climb” through signatures, paperwork, and seemingly unnecessary permits, as well as arrange transfers from the capital, the nerve center of all activities for any part of the country. We ventured into Kangchenjunga National Park, where what we Italians call the “approach” takes about ten days…! So, during this first week, we found ourselves spending two very long days as passengers in a jeep on unpaved roads with no traffic rules, as well as equally long waits for people to help us transport our gear from the jeep to the trekking route, and, after three days, the long-awaited immersion in the nature that reigns supreme in this valley.

We’ll hike the trail leading to Kangchenjunga Base Camp over four days: starting from Sekathum at an elevation of 1,550 meters and ending in the small village of Kambachen at an elevation of 4,100 meters. The landscape changes dramatically from day to day: we pass through lush green jungle, then onto the first open plains with low shrubs and steep but still forested slopes, and finally into enormous glacial valleys enclosed by impressive rock and snow peaks reaching 6,000 and 7,000 meters. The small lodges that welcome us are stone houses set up to accommodate hikers with just a few basic amenities, such as beds on wooden planks, a dining room with a hearth in the middle, and an outdoor squat toilet. Despite the communication challenges, it’s clear that these people are willing to do their best to provide you with the best they can, such as hot, freshly baked chapati, omelets made with freshly laid eggs, and vegetable soups made with produce freshly picked from the garden. Their simplicity is inspiring… especially when compared to our Western lifestyle, which seems extremely complex by comparison.

From the village of Kambachen, we leave the trekking trail and head into a side valley, where, after another day’s hike, we set up our base camp. Base camp is situated on a grassy plain surrounded by moraine ridges but protected from potential rockfalls, and consists of a single two-person tent, a circle of stones for a fire pit, a circle of stones serving as a toilet, and nothing more. We are alone in this silent valley. There are only two sounds to keep us company during these weeks: the fluttering of a couple of flags bearing Nepalese prayers that we’ve tied to the tent guy lines, and a mysterious little bird that chirps punctually at sunrise and sunset without ever showing itself. The view of Janu is incredible: a mountain as fascinating as it is menacing, standing at 7,800 meters, which blocks the entire Kangchenjunga Valley from any other vantage point and features a vast wall that drops vertically along its north face for about 2,000 meters.

To transport our gear to base camp, we enlisted the help of two yaks led by a local herder. We were very fortunate that, according to the yak herder, no one had set foot in the valley we’d chosen for our base camp for several years, but many years ago, a small group of herders had ventured there up to an elevation of 4,500. That pasture had since been abandoned, but our trusted yak herder, early in his career as a shepherd, had been part of that very small group that had made it that far, and he remembered a small stream nearby. In this way, guided by their reconnaissance and the yak man’s experience, they managed to set up camp in the chosen area. Water is a fundamental requirement in determining the location of our base camp: we sought out the highest-altitude water source available (and accessible to the yaks).

Once we’ve set up base camp, we say goodbye to the yak herder: we’ll meet again in a couple of weeks on a date to be announced by radio. For the second time, just as we did at the start of the trek, we’ll wait confidently for his arrival with no other way to communicate! From here on, the exploratory phase began to chart the route to the base of Sato Peak. The mountain was already clearly visible, but to reach it, we had to cross several moraines and valleys.

We set up another advanced base camp at 5,300 meters, just below the start of the glacier, which is necessary to get closer to the face and for acclimatization. The climb to the advanced base camp is absolutely grueling: we trudge along steep moraine ridges, laden like mules, where the increasing altitude and the heavy backpacks crushing our lungs make their presence felt in our labored breathing. The first night at the advanced base camp at 5,380 meters is anything but pleasant: headaches and nausea torment us, especially as darkness falls, when temperatures plummet and the night at -20/-25°C drags on. The hours of darkness during this season are long, from 5:30 p.m. to around 6:00 a.m., and the temperature difference between day and night is very pronounced.

And so the days go by, alternating between rest days at base camp, ascents to the advance camp to transport equipment, and reconnaissance trips along the glacier and the various slopes of Sato Peak.

On October 31, we left the advance camp around 4:30 a.m. and began the ascent up the glacier. It’s dark and very cold; we can’t seem to warm up and are making slow progress. The temperature hovers around -20 Celsius, but we know we have to persevere. In a few hours, the sun will peek out from behind Jannu and bring the temperature up to more bearable levels. The snow is a real pain because it’s deep and powdery: it’s frustrating that at night it’s so bitterly cold that it’s painful… but then it’s actually too cold to melt during the day, preventing the much-sought-after nighttime “refreeze.” So we make our way across the glacier, sinking at times up to our knees, and after four long hours we reach the pass where the ridge begins.

After a few attempts to tackle the ridge, we identify the best spot to start climbing and begin the ascent. Here, too, on the steepest sections, the snow makes for a difficult climb, so we’re constantly looking for spots where rock predominates, even if the rock isn’t always of the best quality. The ascent alternates between sections of sloping rock where we can move in a rope team, and steeper sections where we must instead climb in pitches. We repeatedly try to test the stability of the snow on the north face, which would allow for much faster progress, but we’re always forced to resort to the rock, where we can at least place a few friends or pitons. The climbing is varied and enjoyable, except for a few sections of unstable boulders and crumbly rock.

After a six-hour trek along the ridge, we reach the secondary summit of Sato Peak at an elevation of 6,100, the first goal we had set for ourselves. To reach the main summit (6,200 meters), we would have to descend and find a snowy ridge, zigzagging between some seracs. Unfortunately, however, the snow conditions remain the same, so we decide to end our climb at this unnamed peak.

The descent follows the same route as the ascent, with many sections of downclimbing and a few rappels where the slope is steeper or more difficult. In an attempt to bypass a tower we had climbed on the way up, we find ourselves right in the middle of the south face on a section of rocks piled one on top of the other that seem to shift just by looking at them. We wasted a lot of time getting past this section, but with a bit of trepidation, we managed to get back onto the ridge and from there down to the snowy pass… We can finally say we’re safe!

We descend along the glacier as the last rays of light fade, enjoying a beautiful sunset over Jannu, which, as it does every day, keeps us company, towering with arrogant power over that immense valley. Many climbs in the Dolomites or the Alps end after dark, but the onset of night up here, between 6,000 and 5,000 meters, days away from any human help and with no way to communicate, has a completely different effect! Arriving at the tent at the advanced base camp is therefore a great relief. We take off our boots and crawl into our sleeping bags fully clothed; before collapsing, we find just enough strength to melt some snow and share a packet of freeze-dried food.

Over the next few days, we’ll focus on resting, organizing our gear and our thoughts, and preparing for the long journey that still lies ahead before we return to civilization.

In the heat of the moment, we’re overwhelmed by many emotions, some positive, others negative, but what certainly prevails is regret at not having been able to continue the climb and thus reach the summit of Sato Peak.

Then the days go by, and we begin to see what we experienced up there with fresh eyes. We needed to step back from a reality that had almost become normal to us in order to realize just how extraordinary it was, and thus how lucky we were to have experienced it; perhaps even talking about it with other “outsiders” allowed us to assess the events by filtering them through fresh eyes and ears, curious to discover what we had found and experienced up there; and perhaps even the simple geographical distance, which meant returning to more comfortable temperatures, different flavors, and different thoughts!! When we set out on this expedition, we didn’t even know if we’d be able to find a way to reach base camp, if we’d find water, or if the base of the mountain we wanted to climb was even accessible. We walked and climbed in places where probably no one else had ever set foot before, on a completely self-organized expedition, without the help of sherpas or porters, with so many unknowns that left room for adventure to unfold day by day and allowed us to experience a true exploration, just as we’d dreamed of doing for years.

We decided to name our peak “Sato Pyramide” because of its pyramidal shape and its position slightly ahead of the main peak. We, on the other hand, name the new route Kalypso, a tribute to the Odyssey, which we immersed ourselves in reading during our stay at base camp as our sole form of entertainment, in memory of Odysseus’s captivity by the nymph, feeling in some ways that we, too, were “prisoners” of love… Not to a nymph, but to these mountains that motivate us to persevere and devise new, futile projects.