At the Feet of Giants: Climbing Island Peak in Nepal's Khumbu Valley

"I guess I just really want to do something different—something I'm not comfortable doing. Something aside from hiking." I quickly threw "Imja Tse" into Google, gripping the phone between my shoulder and ear as details unfolded. "It'd be about a month, we'll haul all our gear, and I want to shoot a documentary about the whole thing." I should have expected it at this point. Most phone calls with longtime creative partner Nic "Darwin" Rakestraw ended with me searching the cheapest redeye flights to some far-flung corner of the world. "This man is not good for my wallet," I muttered as I typed "Kathmandu" into Hopper. April wasn't getting any further away. 

The Objective

For about as long as I can remember, the surreal Khumbu Valley has been permanently branded on my bucket list. Its glacier-carved, swirling valleys twisting around the most classic peaks in the world—from Lhotse to Ama Dablam—encased in rich history and colorful culture. This is a place of wonder. I'd heard endless tales of what it's like to see Everest for the first time. Catching a glimpse of the tallest zenith on earth—even if you don't have the chance to climb it—mystifies you beyond words. When the opportunity came up to not only climb and trek in this diverse landscape but shoot a film about our experience, it was a no-brainer. 
 

Our Route to Imja Tse (Island Peak)

The mission seemed relatively simple: Take a small plane from Kathmandu into Lukla and trek up the Khumbu Valley, passing Everest Base Camp to climb Imja Tse (Island Peak), a relatively approachable 6,165-meter (20,226-ft.) mountain in the shadow of mighty Lhotse (8,516 meters). Our route would wind through remote villages and around towering giants like Taboche and Ama Dablam, covering around 80 miles round-trip. Darwin and I come from a background of long-distance thru-hiking—having met on the 3,000-mile Continental Divide Trail in 2021—so the relatively short distance of our trek appeared doable. The biggest kicker (of several) was we'd be lugging chunky video gear and carrying everything ourselves in an effort to film a full documentary of the trip—all in a relatively short time window (about three weeks) at ever-increasing altitudes. This wasn't going to be a cruiser, ultralight journey with an 8-pound base weight.
 

The Documentary: "The Khumbu"

Darwin and I have both been filming multi-month thru-hikes, environmental conservation videos, and personal adventure vlogs for years—but this promised to be a smidge different than the run-and-gun cowboy style we're used to. It was time to up the production game. In an effort to capture the raw emotions of stepping out of our comfort zone, we would film the adventure as it unfolded, interspersed with interview snippets from local sherpas, porters, and even Everest historians. Our goal was to illuminate what makes the Khumbu Valley so unique and highlight the emotions of experiencing it for the first time (on my end). In short, we were going to have to haul a bunch of microphones, lenses, and tripods to altitudes neither of us had been to before. If you're interested in our attempt to cover these bases, you can watch the full film on YouTube.
 

Kathmandu to Lukla

Kathmandu—a beautiful concoction of colorful insanity and inexplicable peace. Constant throngs of people wind through dense alleyways bustling with vendors, restaurants, and street peddlers—booming with the sound of conversation and community. Amidst the chaos are brilliant stupas (hemispherical structures containing relics) encircled by people sitting quietly as smoke from incense swirls around them. Impossibly calm scenes in the heart of such rapid movement. It's a world of contradictions, but the atmosphere seems to reduce stress and generate a sense of wonder despite the sensory overload. "This is a wild, magical place," I mused as we yanked our luggage from the taxi and rushed into our hotel in Thamel. My childhood was spent in Kenya, East Africa, where my parents worked for an NGO in similar urban contexts—so elements of this vibrant culture resonated with me. But still, there was something singular about these colorful streets. I couldn't wait to explore more.
 

Though we were enthralled by the lively scenes around us, we had met our first travel woes before even leaving the airport. We watched in dismay as the last bag slid onto the luggage carousel—and Darwin's duffel was nowhere in sight. Had this been one of many pieces we might have made do, but we opted to pack as light as possible in two bags total to streamline our journey into the mountains. This bag had all of his hiking, climbing, and mountaineering gear, leaving him with a few pairs of spare underwear and a single camera. We immediately saw our "flex days" evaporate and knew this would tighten our already-short timeframe for the expedition. We booked another night in the hotel and readied ourselves for a long wait. After nearly three days of twiddling our thumbs and restlessly exploring nearly all of Thamel, we finally got the call that the duffel had arrived. This was cutting it excruciatingly close.
 

We hurriedly got our ducks in a row and called Darwin's contact in the mountains—a wonderful Sherpa named Dorchi—to confirm our flight with Summit Air from Kathmandu to Lukla scheduled the next day. To our dismay, he informed us that all flights out of Kathmandu were full, and we had to make a desperate redeye run to fly out of a village called Ramechhap, which was over five hours away. "This might be the nail in the coffin," Darwin grunted. Before the call ended, I was already scouring the web for shuttle services to this remote region.

Against all odds, we soon found ourselves bopping along dusty backroads into the night on a completely unexpected trajectory, highly doubting our trip's feasibility. The sun rose as we bumbled into Ramechhap and collapsed out of the bus near a ramshackle runway. A brutal all-nighter was the last thing we had hoped for before entering the Himalayas. Our plane was scheduled to leave in less than an hour, so we dusted ourselves off and rushed to the ticket counter, squeezing through throngs of disgruntled trekkers and tour agencies—only to realize bad weather meant no planes were leaving until the next day (at best). We had made it, but if we didn't get on a plane the following morning, we would have no time to make it to Island Peak. Dejected, we rented a room for the night and began discussing alternative areas we could explore in Nepal or India.
 

Lukla: "The World's Most Dangerous Airport"

You can plan all you want, but beauty is found in letting go. The next day, after several more canceled flights, we were finally rushed into a tiny twin prop plane just as we began chatting with taxis back to Kathmandu. A short weather window had materialized—almost as if we had to embrace acceptance before being allowed into the mountains. Our plane's cockpit had no door, giving us a clear view of warning alarms and flashing lights as we rapidly approached Lukla. The Tenzing-Hillary Airport is a terrifyingly truncated landing strip with a daunting reputation as the "world's most dangerous airport." Cradled between jagged peaks and dramatic valleys, it seems to pop out of the mist as you approach, and pilots landing here have to essentially force their planes to land. We tried to keep our cool as the cabin began to shake, but the tension was palpable. Within seconds, we touched down and came to an impossibly quick halt, brakes screeching in protest. I shot a glance at Darwin, and we giggled nervously.
 

Arriving in Lukla was a much-anticipated checkpoint as we finally felt like things were in our control. Now all we had to do was walk—and climb. A weight lifted off our shoulders as the clouds evaporated—swirling in the crisp mountain air—opening and closing to give us a peek at what rose around us. The foggy atmosphere filled the place with mystery, tempting us with the alpine paradise hidden beyond without giving away its full majesty. I entered a very different headspace, filled with expectation, vigor, and a deep peace. These mountains I'd dreamed of as a kid suddenly loomed before me, and I couldn't help but shed a tear. But there was little time for emotion. Shouldering our duffels, we waded through narrow, crowded alleyways, a million prayer flags snapping and fluttering in the biting breeze, making a beeline for Dorchi's house.
 

This was Darwin's third trip to Nepal, and he was starting to look like a local as we followed his mental map through the maze of stupas and shops. Finally, we found ourselves in Dorchi's teahouse—a true contrast of tranquility to the journey up to this point. We chugged endless mugs of lemon tea, downed our first taste of the famous dal bhat, and got to know the ever-positive Dorchi Sherpa. Darwin had met Dorchi on his first trip to Nepal years ago and had fostered a deep friendship with him over subsequent trips. While we weren't going to trek or climb with Dorchi, he was helping us coordinate logistics for the ascent of Island Peak through his tour company Global Holidays Adventure. For this mission, we would hike to Island Peak base camp on our own, then meet up there with a local Sherpa named Urken (a relative of Dorchi's) to do the actual climb.
 

The Path to Namche Bazaar

Finally, we were off. With barely enough time to organize our packs, we downed a final cup of tea and waved goodbye to Dorchi, our lack of flex days at the forefront of our minds. If we didn't crank, there was no way we would make it back in time for our return flight to Ramechhap. Despite the pressure, getting to lace up again and clock miles with Darwin was euphoric, and we slipped into that thru-hiking mindset we both love so deeply. Our woes melted away as we gradually gained altitude—passing vibrant villages, slogging along dusty trails, and staggering over swinging bridges stippled with prayer flags. We gawked at long ribbons of waterfalls bouncing their way down the Khumbu escarpment and entire hillsides set ablaze with blossoming rhododendrons (a nice bonus to visiting in April). The trekking was unlike any backpacking trip I've done.
 

Rather than long stints in the wilderness with several days between resupply points, our route had us passing through small villages every couple miles at most. It was hard going—slowly climbing and descending oscillating singletrack deeply grooved by myriads of pack yaks (and scattered by their pungent dung)—but there was no lack of nourishment. Whenever we felt even remotely tired, there was a shop in sight with hot drinks and even fresh baked goods, along with a teahouse to rest in for the night. "Man, we've been doing this hiking thing all wrong!" I scoffed between bites of a steaming cinnamon bun, gazing out the sprawling windows of the Everest Bakery Cafe in Phakding at the soaring mountains above. I was shocked at the amenities in these villages. Bigger communities like Phakding and Monjo featured prominent modern lodges with all the fixings, and even smaller, quaint towns like Toc Toc and Benkar had everything a hiker could want mid-trek. The truly remarkable part is that everything has to be hauled up by porters or flown in by helicopter. The only roads are footpaths. Regardless of the size, each community was popping with color, touched by the ever-present scent of incense from mountain herbs, and rich with culture.
 

As we climbed higher, towns got fewer and farther between, and we began to feel the altitude rise as temperatures dropped. After two days of trekking, we hobbled our way across the renowned Hillary Bridge—swinging ominously over the milky-white Dudh Koshi river far below—and shot up a brutally steep hill towards Namche Bazaar. Things were starting to get real. Crossing the Hillary Bridge felt like stepping into some of the countless books I'd read as a kid, like Krakauer's Into Thin Air, painting pictures of the "Gateway to the Himalayas" in my mind. To be honest, I never envisioned it being so difficult just to reach this "gateway". It seemed like I crawled into Namche, truly feeling my pack's 50-pound weight and the ever-thinning air as we passed 11,000 feet, and collapsed on a thin mattress in the famous Khumbu Lodge. We had originally planned to rest a day or two here, but our schedule didn't allow for such luxuries anymore. So we made the most of our short stint in this humming hub of alpinism and prepped for our journey deeper into the Khumbu Valley. 
 

Namche to Dingboche 

Leaving Namche was the first time I felt like we were actually in the Himalayas. The weather had been dreary up to this point and only afforded brief glimpses of the dramatic range around us. But the forecast promised brilliant blue skies up to our scheduled climbing date. The warmth brought renewed stoke, and we hopped along ridgeline singletrack with the mighty Ama Dablam peering out of the haze ahead. The higher we hiked, the more that unfolded before us. I gazed in a trance at Taboche and Cholatse, both soaring over 6,000 meters into a whirlwind of clouds, and the realization set in that I was about to see the highest point on earth. Our first view of Everest came after we woke up in Pangboche village. The cresting sun painted Ama Dablam in brilliant vermillion, and beams of light danced over Nupste and Lhotse far on the horizon, with just the zenith of Everest peaking above its 8,000-meter neighbors. "Magical" doesn't quite cut it. There are truly no words to describe what it's like to physically see the roof of the world. Its presence demands respect.
 

It was four days into our trek, and fitness-wise we were performing fine—until Darwin developed a serious case of the infamous "Khumbu Cough" as we wound our way to Dingboche at over 14,000 feet. A common ailment while trekking in the Himalayas, the high altitude and dry air irritate the respiratory tract—exacerbated by smog that rolls in each evening, dust kicked up from yaks, and excrement from the animals. It's not pleasant and can lead to uncontrollable coughing, headaches, or even worse symptoms. We had already been ascending faster than we had hoped since we lost so many days in Kathmandu, and though we had acclimatization days baked into our schedule, we were pushing it a tad too fast. (To that point, be sure to consult with your tour operator before embarking on any trek in the Himalayas, and follow their pacing guidelines as you hike from village to village.) With no more flex days to spare, we were fully banking on good weather and healthy bodies for our summit bid of Island Peak in a few short days. If Darwin's condition worsened, we'd be up a creek. Reaching Dingboche, we got a room for two nights and discussed our next move. 
 

Nangkartshang Ri

A vital element to any high-altitude mountaineering expedition is properly acclimatizing before your climb in iterative stages. AMS, HACE, and HAPE symptoms can develop as low as 6- to 8,000 feet, so it's important to slowly ascend to higher altitudes as you approach the base camp of your climb—even if you are feeling fine physically. Altitude sickness is a serious condition that can sneak up on anyone. It is not to be taken lightly, even if you are taking Acetazolamide (Diamox), which can help combat these conditions (check out our article on altitude sickness for more info on this topic). In the Himalayas, short treks up and down a "Ri"—prominent overlooks or ridges at high altitudes—are a common tactic for getting your body accustomed to the thinner air.
 

Aside from monitoring how fast we ascended to Dingboche (which we admittedly didn't do a great job of), we had two acclimatization Ri climbs baked into our itinerary: Nangkartshang Ri (16,644 ft.) near Dingboche and Chukhung Ri (18,196 ft.) near Chukhung. It was important that we take time to ascend to these altitudes once we reached each village so that the 20,226 foot elevation of Island Peak wasn't as much a shock to the system as it could be. However, in Darwin's state, a climb up to 16k didn't feel like a good move. So we waited to see how he felt the following morning.
 

The sun rose, and I woke to the natural sound of yak bells clanging outside—not Darwin hacking his lungs out. This was a good omen. He had drunk his weight in lemon tea the night before and seemed to be doing a lot better, his headache and other symptoms nearly gone. He was down to give the Ri a go. We got a later start than we had planned but quickly began scaling the steep slope, our nearly empty packs making us feel like we could fly. As we plodded upward, it became clear that this was one of the most stunning ridges I'd ever set foot on. The sheer face of Ama Dablam exploded before us to the east—the epitome of a perfect mountain—and Taboche loomed behind us to the west. Imja Tse and Lhotse were barely visible in the mist farther up the valley, peeking in and out through dark clouds. Despite being so high, we were but at the feet of these giants. The raw scale of it all put me in my place—a vivid reminder that we were just observers there. Nobody "conquers" these mountains. 
 

Dingboche to Island Peak Base Camp

Invigorated by our successful acclimatization climb, and with Darwin feeling much better, we pushed through one of the more remote and stunning sections of trail between Dingboche and Chukhung—the final outpost before base camp. The reality of how isolating and dangerous these mountains can be set in. We had left the standard EBC (Everest Base Camp) route before Dingboche, so we met very few people along our path aside from the occasional porter bringing goods to Chukhung. The exposure was intimidating. Cold air seemed to slice right through our insulation, and the sun quickly burned any exposed skin. Wild, sporadic gusts of wind careened down the mountainsides, knocking us back and forth as we hobbled up the dusty trail. We barely talked in an effort to conserve energy. Sitting at 15,500 feet, Chukhung seems to cling desperately to the rough, rocky terrain, battered by the harsh elements. We were relieved to finally reach it and stumbled into a ramshackle teahouse, quickly huddling around a wood stove in the middle of the main room. 
 

Our original plan was to take another acclimatization day here and hike up to Chukhung Ri at 18,196 feet, spending two nights in the village. However, after checking the forecast, we realized some bad weather had the potential to roll in on our proposed summit day. Our Sherpa wouldn't take us to 6,165 meters (20,226 ft.) in poor conditions, and we had no more flex days to speak of. We had a hard decision to make. Risk it and spend only one night in Chukhung, climbing Island Peak with only one Ri under our belt, or climb the Ri the next day and gamble with bad weather for our climb. We debated for hours, and after consulting with several Sherpas resting in the teahouse, we decided to push onto base camp the next morning. We both felt fine physically but knew altitude sickness could rear its head at any time. We got as much sleep as we could in a frigid room "insulated" by sheets of corrugated metal and set out for base camp early the next morning. The wind was even worse than it had been the day prior, and we wore everything we could to keep warm. Despite the harsh conditions, we were entranced by the dramatic scenes around us.
 

Cresting a brushy ridge, we were suddenly staring straight up at the world's fourth-tallest mountain with unobstructed views from base to peak. I truly wasn't prepared for how small Lhotse made me feel. It was impossibly tall. Darwin wandered ahead—a mere spec of dust in contrast to the mammoth wall before him—and I snapped my favorite picture of the entire journey (shown above). We rested for awhile in the shadow of this behemoth and rounded the final ridge to our long-anticipated destination. Glimpsing the bright yellow tents flapping around base camp far ahead was euphoric, and it felt surreal to finally spot our objective. Island Peak stood like a solitary foot soldier at the edge of the Lhotse Glacier, absolutely dwarfed by the 8,000-meter peaks peering down from high above. We rolled into camp with renewed excitement and connected with Urken, our climbing Sherpa. After a hearty meal of hot soup and mounds of pasta, we practiced some technical climbing skills and crawled into our sleeping bags. Our 1am start would sneak up quickly. 
 

Climbing Imja Tse (Island Peak)

"Did you actually sleep any?" I croaked as Darwin's red light blinked on at 12:30am. "I think so, but it's hard to tell dream from reality." It was true. Sleep is fickle at best at 17,000 feet. Our tent zipper suddenly splayed open, and Urken's head popped into view. "Ready for the slog?" he laughed. The stars and moon were so brilliant we didn't even need headlamps to navigate upward, and the pale mountains seemed to glow around us. Urken started us off at a slow crawl, carefully picking his steps up the steep scree slope. There was hardly any wind, and the darkness was strangely comforting. I fell into something of a trance—one foot in front of the other—carefully listening to my breathing and making sure my heart rate didn't spike too high. Ice crunching softly underfoot lulled me into a meditative rhythm. The reality of how quickly we had rushed to get to this point (and our decision to skip the last Ri) was at the forefront of our minds, and we weren't going to let our guard down until safely back at camp.
 

The highest I had ever been was years ago on Mt. Kenya at around 17,000 feet, and I was definitely feeling every foot above this benchmark. It was like sipping air through a thin straw. Each step felt unjustly difficult. Urken's pace was consistent and manageable, though, and before we knew it, a hint of orange was teasing the horizon. The sun stabbed between peaks to the east, and suddenly the veil was ripped away. Before us was crampon point and the start of a sprawling glacier, leading up to an intimidating headwall decorated with endless icy chandeliers. We slid our mountaineering boots and spikes on, clipped into a rope, and picked our way around deep blue crevasses and otherworldly formations of snow. After an hour or so of steep glacier travel, we reached the base of a nearly vertical wall of broken ice and crumbly rock, rising hundreds of feet above us. The route ahead was anything but obvious.
 

Fixed lines had already been set up on the sheer face, so we threw our ascenders on and began jumaring our way up. The ropes were thin (maybe 8.5mm) and fraying way more than I'm usually comfortable with, anchored to the occasional mangled picket and holes in the ice. In the desperation of the moment, however, I barely noticed—focused solely on conserving enough energy to make the next move. We reached a small belay ledge and rested for a moment, only to clip into yet another full 60-meter line.

The next pitch had a short stretch of fully freehanging ascending. Peering down hundreds of unobstructed feet to the glacier below, I began to doubt our decision to jumar with only one ascender. This was harder than I had anticipated—and more technical. My jugging technique is dialed from years of big-wall ascents on El Capitan in Yosemite National Park, but performing the same act at 20,000 feet is another thing entirely. Suddenly, we heard a faint warning of "roooock!" yelled from another Sherpa far ahead—a climber's call that something has been dislodged above. We slammed our bodies tight against the cliff, and sure enough, a soccer-ball-sized rock came plummeting down directly in front of us, shattering far below on the ice. Exchanging nervous glances, we paused for a second, then continued our push upward.
 

The first few pitches went down with relative ease, but the final lines humbled me. My breathing strained, each movement felt 10 times harder than it should have. Even resting felt like a chore as my lungs screamed for oxygen. "You need to slow down," I told myself as I tried to adopt a more consistent rhythm. My heart rate gradually fell, and I began to feel strength returning. Another ledge, another full-length rope. I shot a glance down at Darwin, clawing his way up below, and forced an impassioned "yewwww!" He shouted back in encouragement, and we punched our way up the final line to a thin, exposed knife edge. And there it was: A long, grooved ramp of snow directed our gaze to the summit, a hundred tattered prayer flags whipping back and forth far away, flickering in the brilliant sun. "So this is why they do it," I thought to myself. Those summit emotions are hard to describe—and even harder to replicate.
 

The Return Trek

Summiting Island Peak felt very much like the conclusion of a thru-hike: so much buildup to this one euphoric moment that lasts a few fleeting seconds. The story of this nearly month-long journey played out in my mind as we picked our way back down the knife edge, rappelled the dubious fixed lines, and carefully descended back to crampon point. Our shenanigans in Kathmandu, the desperate ride to Ramechhap, our rugged trek up the valley, and all the beautiful people and cultures we experienced along the way—all the little unknowns that made the trip what it was. That's the beauty of travel. It was nearly lunchtime when we strolled into base camp, greeted by another feast of hearty stew and spaghetti. Saying goodbye to Urken, we battled back down all the way to Dingboche, where we crashed hard for the night. Our goal had been reached, but it left us with only two and a half days to make it back to Lukla before we missed our flight. The rest of the return trek was a blur as we cruised through town after town, feeling stronger and healthier as the elevation plummeted. We rolled into Lukla just in time—but with enough margin for a quick farewell platter of dal bhat.
 

Tips for Trekking and Climbing in Nepal

Nepal is an incredible country to tour, rich with colorful culture, raw adventure, and diverse landscapes. As the home to the world's tallest mountain and countless other classic peaks, it is a hub for mountaineers looking to push their boundaries in harsh conditions. But it's also a mecca for trekkers of all abilities, and there are several lower-altitude mountains that are more approachable—and affordable—for casual climbers (like Island Peak). Tourist peaks like Island and Mera can be done with minimal climbing experience and offer unmatched views of the Himalayas. Popular routes like the Three Passes Trek, Annapurna Circuit, and Everest Base Camp Trek allow hikers to experience the magic of this region without having to rope up or haul in heavy climbing gear. Those seeking a more remote experience can check out routes like the lesser-known Manaslu Circuit. For more ways to explore Nepal, check out our full list of adventure guides for the country.
 

Guided Adventures vs. Independent Travel

This has long been a debate in Nepal, and the laws regarding whether you can trek without a guide service are rather murky. Technically, on April 1, 2023, Nepal mandated that trekkers must hire a guide if they plan to be anywhere in Nepal’s 12 national parks and six conservation areas. This includes the Annapurna and Manaslu circuits, along with the EBC (Everest Base Camp) trek. We have heard conflicting reports from our community and beyond about the lack of enforcement regarding this mandate, with many people still hiking and climbing solo. Be that as it may, we encourage you to do your research, respect the local laws, and remember that hiring a guide helps support the local community—one that is heavily impacted by foreigners both positively and negatively.
 

Darwin had a well-established relationship with a Sherpa (Dorchi) from several past trips to Nepal, who helped us coordinate logistics through Global Holidays Adventure, the tour company he works for. They were fantastic to work with, refining our itinerary while still giving us the autonomy to craft a custom adventure. Through this company, we were able to get our permit to climb Island Peak, which also allowed us to do the entire approach trek on our own and carry all of our gear. This is how Darwin and I prefer to trek, so it made the most sense for us. We still had to purchase a Trekking Information Management System (TIMS) card before entering Sagamartha National Park, which was roughly $25 USD. We then met with our climbing Sherpa at Island Peak base camp, who guided us on the actual climb for the day. It's important to note that many tour companies require travel insurance that covers emergency evacuation and medical treatment in order to book. I have had good luck with World Nomads in the past, so I went with them and landed on the Explorer Plan for around $170 USD.
 

Getting Into the Mountains

Actually getting up into the Himalayas can be quite the chore. Ideally, you would book a flight straight from Kathmandu to Lukla through Summit Air, but during the busy expedition season, flights out of Tribhuvan International Airport can fill up fast and unexpectedly, forcing you to fly out of another hub. This happened to us, resulting in our desperate, last-minute mission to Ramechhap. Regardless of where you fly out of, the flight to Lukla is extremely risky for the pilots due to tight weather windows and the precarious location of Tenzing-Hillary Airport. As a result, flights are frequently postponed or canceled. This can (and often does) lead to a backlog of ticketed passengers trying to get to Lukla, so it's not uncommon to wait multiple days to snag a seat. In the end, it's best to communicate closely with your tour agency to book flights ahead of time and get insider knowledge on where you may have to fly out of. It's even better if you can chat with someone actually living in Lukla, as they can usually tell if pilots will try to make the flight that day based on the weather. Include as many flex days as possible in your itinerary, and be prepared to have them all eaten up by waiting in a chaotic, crowded airport for days. It's all part of the adventure.
 

Where to Stay and What to Eat While Trekking

I was shocked at the quality of affordable amenities in the Khumbu region despite its remote nature. As you work your way up the valley, you can easily stay in teahouses on the cheap, which are lodges that provide rooms and food. For independent trekkers, they are generally quite affordable (around $5 to 15 USD per night), and you can also take your meals there. We always had a room to ourselves, often with an attached bathroom. Blankets are usually provided but aren't always warm enough. We'd recommend bringing a winter-ready sleeping bag (we opted for 0°F bags), especially if you plan to stay at higher-altitude villages like Chukhung (15,500 ft.). Dispersed wilderness camping is strictly regulated in Sagamartha National Park and the entire Khumbu Valley and illegal in most zones, as we understand it. It is permitted in certain areas but only in designated campsites. The camping fees also typically range from $5 to 15 USD per night. We ended up not bringing a backpacking tent since cozy teahouses abound, and a tent was provided for us at Island Peak base camp.
 

Most of the teahouses also offer hot showers for a small fee—a welcome release after a long day on the trail. Across the board, the teahouses we stayed in had a wide variety of food options. Dal bhat (lentils/curry/rice), momos (dumplings), fried rice, pasta, or "mountain pizzas" are all common items you can order. We heeded warnings and ate only vegetarian food once we passed Namche. Meat at the higher altitudes can be questionable, and travelers with sensitive stomachs may want to consider not eating meat past Lukla. For breakfast, pancakes, French toast, oatmeal, and omelets were staples on most menus. The local water should not be consumed. Be careful about fresh vegetables and fruit—it's wise to only eat raw oranges and bananas because they can be peeled, otherwise only consume cooked vegetables.
 

Bottled water is available at the teahouses and trailside shops, but the price increases dramatically at higher, more remote locations. In Namche, for example, 1 liter was under $1 USD, whereas in Chukhung, 1 liter cost almost five times that. You can filter water from the rivers and tributaries along the route, which we occasionally did with our Katadyn BeFree, but bottled water is available for purchase multiple times each day. Most of the teahouses also have Wi-Fi for a cost. The cost ranges and also tend to get more expensive as you ascend. At the time of our trip, in the lower teahouses, Wi-Fi was about 500 to 700 rupees (roughly $3.75 USD). At higher elevations, a 10GB card cost 2500 rupees. Most teahouses provide the ability to charge devices (a phone might cost 250 to 500 rupees). We also brought our trusty BioLite battery pack.​
 

Gear We Brought

Our gear list is a bit more complex than many who visit Nepal, as we had a sizable filmmaking kit to shoot "The Khumbu" and decided to bring all our own climbing equipment. Rental companies abound in Kathmandu, and you can even rent technical climbing gear as far up as Chukhung if you don't want to schlep it all the way up the valley. We opted to haul all our own climbing, camping, and trekking gear for this trip, but there is a strong argument for hiring porters. The climbing gear you need depends on your objective, and different tour companies may require different setups. Island Peak only requires you to ascend fixed lines, so ice screws, pickets, and other forms of protection aren't necessary. Below is a list of all the apparel and gear we brought for our nearly month-long excursion.
 

Backpacking and Camping Gear

The Khumbu Valley can get extremely cold, particularly at night in higher elevations. The teahouses along the way often provide blankets (though you may have to pay for extras), but a winter sleeping bag is recommended. We both opted for a reliable 0-degree Fahrenheit bag, along with warm layers for walking around town at night. We only needed an inflatable sleeping pad for nights in base camp.

• Hyperlite Mountain Gear Halka 55 Backpack
• Nemo Tensor Extreme Conditions Sleeping Pad
• Mountain Hardwear Phantom 0°F Sleeping Bag
• Petzl Actik Core Headlamp
• Benchmade Freek Carbon Fiber Knife
• Katadyn BeFree Water Filter
• Garmin Fenix 7 Sapphire Solar GPS Watch
• Garmin inReach Mini 2
• BioLite Charge 80 PD Power Bank
• Cotopaxi Allpa 42L Travel Pack (left in Kathmandu)
• Mountain Hardwear 100L Expedition Duffel and Rab 120L Expedition Kitbag (for transporting gear to Lukla)
   

Climbing and Mountaineering Gear

We brought a bit more climbing gear than was required. We only ended up needing one ascender and tether, a Petzl Tibloc (backup only), one quickdraw, two locking carabiners, and an ATC belay device with a third hand, per our Sherpa's instruction. The aim is to keep things as light and streamlined as possible—though I was definitely wishing for a second ascender on some of the more vertical stretches of fixed ropes. Be sure to check with your tour company before leaving to ensure you have the requisite climbing gear for your objective—and aren't carrying unnecessary weight.

• La Sportiva G2 Evo Mountaineering Boots (we saw several climbers get away with the less-insulated La Sportiva Nepal Cube GTX)
• Obermeyer Rallye Glacier Goggles
• OuterU FaceGlove Flex Face Mask (a game-changer!)
• Black Diamond Vapor Helmet
• Camp Corsa Ice Axe
• Petzl Irvis Hybrid Crampons
• Black Diamond Couloir LT Harness
• Petzl Ascension Ascender (R & L)
• Black Diamond MiniWire Quickdraw (two)
• Black Diamond 10mm Dynex Runner (120cm)
• Petzl Attache Carabiner (two)
• Petzl Tibloc
• Black Diamond ATC-Alpine Guide Belay Device
• Sterling HollowBlock2 Loop
   

Cameras and Filmmaking Equipment

• Sony FX3 Cinema Camera
• Sony FE 24-70mm f/2.8 GM II Lens
• Sony FE 35mm F1.4 GM Lens
• Sirui Full FX3 Camera Cage 
• Fujifilm X-H2S Camera
• Fuji 16-55mm 2.8 Lens
• GoPro Hero 11 Black Action Camera
• PolarPro Variable ND Filter
• Rode VideoMic Pro Microphone
• Tascam DR-10L Digital Audio Recorder
• AOKA 28in Carbon Fiber Tripod
• Peak Design Capture Clip
• Lowepro GearUp PRO Large II Camera Box

Editor's note: As we mentioned above, we brought a lot of bulky gear for filmmaking. For more manageable options, check out our list of the best cameras for hiking and backpacking.
 

What We Wore

Chris

• Pants: Arc’teryx Gamma (hiking) and discontinued La Sportiva Bernina 3.0 (softshell mountaineering)
• Shorts: Patagonia Strider Pro 5"
• Rain jacket: Arc’teryx Beta Jacket
• Fleece jacket: Black Diamond Coefficient Storm Hoody
• Down jacket: La Sportiva Supercouloir 1000 Down Jacket
• Hiking shirt: Patagonia Capilene Cool Daily Graphic T-Shirt
• Sun shirt: Black Diamond Alpenglow Hoody
• Hiking shoes: Altra Lone Peak (I wore the 8 but am currently testing the 9 with great results)
• Socks: Altera Alpaca Explore Mid-Weight Micro and Altera Alpaca Prevail Mid-Weight 9" Crew
• Gloves: Helly Hansen Insulated Gloves and Showa 282-02 Ice Gloves
   

Darwin

• Pants: Norrøna Falketind Flex1 Softshell Pant
• Shorts: Patagonia Strider Pro 5"
• Rain jacket: Enlightened Equipment Visp
• Fleece jacket: Mountain Hardwear Polartec Power Grid Full-Zip Hoodie
• Down jacket: Zpacks Goose Down Jacket
• Sun/hiking shirt: Evolved Supply Co. The Mirage
• Sleep/hangout shirt: Patagonia Capilene Cool Daily T-Shirt
• Hiking shoes: Topo Athletic Pursuit 2
• Socks: Darn Tough 1715 Quarter Lightweight Running Socks
• Gloves: Black Diamond Mission Gloves and Enlightened Equipment Torrid Mitts