Chasing 8,000 Meters: My Manaslu Expedition Story

Mount Manaslu, the "Mountain of the Spirit," stands at 8,163 meters, the eighth-highest mountain in the world. It's less commercial than Everest, quieter than Cho Oyu, and yet every bit as formidable. For me, Manaslu wasn’t just about reaching another 8,000-meter summit—it was about testing myself, mentally and physically, in one of the most demanding environments on Earth.

This is the story of my expedition—of ambition, altitude, and everything in between.

A Dream Takes Shape

The idea of climbing an 8,000-meter peak had been on my mind for years. I had trekked in Nepal before—Everest Base Camp, Annapurna Circuit, even Island Peak. But Manaslu represented a new threshold: a mountain that didn’t just challenge your body, but your resolve.

Manaslu appealed to me because it was less crowded and offered a more raw, isolated expedition feel. I wanted to be away from the noise and see how far I could go when there was no audience—only the mountain and myself.

Kathmandu to Samagaun: The Approach Trek

Like most Himalayan expeditions, the journey begins long before you ever touch snow. After organizing gear in Kathmandu and securing permits, our team took a long drive to Soti Khola and started the trek up the Budhi Gandaki Valley.

The trail to Manaslu Base Camp is stunning—remote villages, swinging suspension bridges, waterfalls cutting through cliffs, and quiet forests untouched by mass tourism. We passed through places like Jagat, Deng, and Namrung before reaching Samagaun, the last big settlement before the mountain.

At Samagaun, we rested and acclimatized. The village sits at around 3,500 meters, and the views of Manaslu were already commanding. The scale of it was humbling. From there, we moved slowly toward Base Camp, taking time to adjust and letting the mountain become familiar.

Life at Base Camp

Manaslu Base Camp is perched at around 4,800 meters. From here, the summit felt impossibly far away.

Base Camp life is routine but essential. You eat, rest, hydrate, and wait—for weather windows, for rotations, for your body to catch up to the altitude. Every movement feels calculated. I remember waking up to snow-covered tents, breathing in the dry, icy air, and watching the sunrise hit the summit pyramid.

We trained in fixed rope systems, practiced glacier travel, and prepared mentally for what lay ahead. The Sherpa team was instrumental in helping us adapt. Their pace, efficiency, and humility reminded us every day that experience matters far more than ego in the mountains.

Climbing Rotations: Pushing Higher

To acclimatize, we did multiple rotations up the mountain. First to Camp I at around 5,700 meters. Then Camp II at 6,400 meters. Every climb was harder than the last.

The route was steep, icy, and exposed in sections. The Manaslu Glacier creaked underfoot. There were sections with ladder crossings and fixed ropes that required careful movement and sharp focus.

Sleep became more difficult above 6,000 meters. Eating was a chore. Fatigue became permanent. But this was the process—pushing the body just enough, then retreating to let it adapt.

By the time our summit push window arrived, we had made two full rotations and were confident in our acclimatization. But nothing can prepare you for the final push.

The Summit Push: Into the Death Zone

We left Base Camp for the final time with heavy packs and quiet minds. Camp III was the gateway to the death zone. At 6,800 meters, breathing became a conscious effort. From there to Camp IV at around 7,400 meters, the terrain became more serious, and the margin for error disappeared.

The night before summit day, I barely slept. The wind shook the tents. Oxygen tanks hissed softly beside me. We woke around 1 a.m., layered up, clipped in, and started climbing.

The cold was brutal. I felt it in my fingertips despite the gloves. My goggles iced up every few minutes. And yet, one step at a time, we gained altitude. Headlamps flickered above and below as climbers ascended in slow motion.

By sunrise, we were near the summit ridge. The wind had calmed, and the mountain revealed itself in the pale morning light. Every breath felt like a small victory. And then, just after 9 a.m., we stepped onto the summit.

The Summit: 8,163 Meters

The summit of Manaslu is narrow, sharp, and exposed. But from there, the entire Himalaya stretched out in all directions. Ganesh Himal, Annapurnas, and far to the west, even hints of Dhaulagiri.

I didn’t cry or raise my hands in triumph. I just stood there—silent, overwhelmed, and grateful. I thought of all the nights in tents, all the months of training, all the doubts. And I thought of the people I loved, far below, who never questioned why I needed to do this.

We didn’t stay long. No one does. Photos were taken. Hugs exchanged. Then we turned around—because reaching the summit is only half the journey.

The Descent and the Return

Descending was harder than expected. My legs were shaky. I was exhausted and dehydrated. But I focused on every step, knowing that most accidents happen on the way down.

We moved through Camp IV, then Camp II, eventually arriving back at Base Camp 48 hours later. I remember sitting in the mess tent, drinking tea, and feeling weightless—not physically, but emotionally. We had done it. Safely.

The trek back to Kathmandu was a blur. Forests replaced glaciers. Rivers replaced snowfields. And slowly, life returned to normal.

What Manaslu Taught Me

Climbing Manaslu wasn’t just about altitude. It was about vulnerability, resilience, and trust—especially trust in the Sherpa team and in the mountain itself. I learned that fear isn’t something to overcome, but something to carry with you. It sharpens your focus and reminds you what’s at stake.

I also learned that silence—true silence—is one of the most powerful experiences a human can have. High on that mountain, disconnected from the noise of the world, you hear yourself more clearly than ever before.

Would I Do It Again?

Absolutely. Not because I crave the summit, but because I crave the simplicity of the mountains. The purity of effort. The clarity of purpose. Manaslu changed me, and I think that’s the best thing a mountain can do.

If you're dreaming of chasing 8,000 meters, know this: it’s not just a climb. It’s a commitment. It demands everything, but it gives back more than you ever imagined.