K2 2023

7/16 – 7/23

After the trek in our first day at basecamp K2 began with a traditional Buddhist Puja ceremony, led by Lhakpa Sherpa, to seek safe passage from the mountain gods. The ceremony was cut short by bad weather, so the usual post-ceremony celebration was moved indoors.

Puja Ceremony

Heading back to basecamp after dropping gear at crampon point.

While some team members did extra acclimatization rotations, I chose not to, having recently spent two nights at 23,000 feet on Nanga Parbat without supplemental oxygen. Instead, I hiked daily to advanced base camp, navigating icefalls and glacier ponds while transporting gear, which kept me clear-headed and allowed for restful sleep.

I also spent time socializing with friends at other camps and bonding with teammates. Meals were a multicultural affair; our Chinese teammates spoke Mandarin and ate extra spicy food, while the Pakistani and Nepali members conversed in Hindi and preferred moderately spicy dishes. David, Jon, and I used English and opted for milder fare, cautious about “spicy yak” at such high altitude. As I only spoke English and some Spanish, I mostly ate with Jon and David, while multilingual teammates moved easily between groups.

After 7 full days at basecamp, it was thankfully time to start climbing. This year on K2 the weather had been extremely difficult with lots of fresh snow each day. This had made it challenging for the rope fixing team to do their work as well as for the Sherpa’s to carry supplies up the mountain. Finally, the route was set to the standard C3 and our tents, oxygen and fuel was also cached up on the mountain. I was eager to start climbing but was also apprehensive since the bad weather had forced most of the teams to be targeting the same summit date of July 27th. Some of our team members started up the mountain on the 22nd of July but Thundu Sherpa and I opted to start up on the 23rd.

Looking up towards the summit of K2

Team saying final prayers at Puja alter before heading up.

7/23: BC ->C1

Thundu and I left base camp around 6 am, moving at a slow but steady pace that we both agreed was wise. At crampon point, we joined the rest of our team, who were preparing their gear. As we geared up, graupel—small pellets of frozen rain—began to fall, making for less-than-ideal climbing conditions.

The ascent began with a section of steep snow and navigating through old avalanche debris. Soon after, we encountered the fixed ropes, signaling the start of steeper climbing. The ropes were alternating between wet and frozen, posing a challenge for our ascenders to gain purchase.

Upon arriving at C1, we found the small camp densely packed with tents. Many teams that had arrived the day before us were still stationed there, hesitant to proceed to C2 due to the inclement weather. After discussion, Thundu, Lakpa, Shahbaz, and I located our tent, only to discover a basketball-sized hole in both the tent and fly caused by a rock. While I tried to maintain a positive outlook, acknowledging that none of us were inside the tent when the rock struck, my fears of another potential rockfall lingered. Knocking snow off the tent resulted in water cascading through the hole, adding to the challenges we faced.

Taking shelter inside the tent, I changed out of my wet clothes, placed my boot liners inside my sleeping bag to keep them warm, and drifted off to sleep for several hours. Upon waking, I savored the soup and fried rice that Thundu had prepared.

I couldn’t rest that night, preoccupied with the increasing avalanche risk from the steady precipitation. The thought of abandoning the summit attempt brought a mix of disappointment and relief, and I grew more uneasy when I realized my glasses were back at base camp.

Hole in our tent where a rock had come through.

House’s Chimney – Photo Credit Mingma G

7/24: C1 –>C2.5 aka Japanese Camp

I woke up later than planned, feeling cold and miserable. Noise filled the air, punctuated by one woman’s particularly shrill voice. I’d been awake for a while but hesitated to move, not wanting to disturb my tent mates. Eventually, we all got up, heated water, and ate some breakfast. The day’s plan remained unclear until, after about an hour, Mingma G decided our team would continue upward.

I wasted time searching for a missing glove, and by the time we left the tent, most other climbers were already ascending. I still needed to use the bathroom, but with everyone out and about, privacy was impossible. The designated restroom involved holding onto a rope and dangling over a cliff—lovely.

As we joined the crowd heading up, I ran into my friend Te-San, his usual friendly self, moving at a quick pace that made me feel slow and frustrated by comparison. After I pulled aside to rest, the Madison Mountaineering team passed, and I was glad to see my friend Kim and their guide, Terray. Despite the sleet, Terray kept the mood light, reassuring everyone with remarks like, “No hurry, look at this line.” Grateful for their company, I fell in behind them to enjoy their banter.

When we arrived at House’s Chimney, I was surprised by how straightforward the climbing was. I felt confident using my left hand on the ladder and my right hand on the rocks. However, I was shocked at some of the clumsy footwork I observed and its potential to cause rockfall.

Next, we reached lower C2, where about eight tents from a Russian team were pitched. While some of our teammates ducked into the empty tents for shelter, Thundu and I took cover behind a rock. We attempted to drink a Coke but were shivering too much and had to keep moving. Kim mentioned the main C2 was only 20 minutes away, and I replied, “Not for our team!” knowing our camp was much farther.

An hour later, we arrived at what our teammate David called the “dancing ladder.” He named it well—it was so loosely attached that it seemed to dance away from you just when you needed it. This section was far more challenging than House’s Chimney, due to both the route and the worsening precipitation.

Finally, after nearly ten exhausting hours, we reached our camp at C2.5. Upon arriving, I saw only one tent had been erected, with John and David inside making water. Feeling borderline hypothermic, irritable, and utterly spent, I quickly joined them. Too tired to be of use, I waited in their tent while Thundu and the other Sherpas built platforms and pitched the remaining ones.

Our tent was on rough, uneven ground that fell away sharply where our feet were. Grateful just for the shelter, I immediately fell asleep without a thought for eating or drinking.

The “dancing ladder”. Photo credit PS Sim.

Looking down the Black Pyramid.

7/25: C2.5 -> C3.5

I don’t remember the exact time I woke up, but I focused on rehydrating after the previous day’s push. We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and coffee, finally leaving our tent around 9:45 am. Thundu and I prefer to take our time starting the day, a pace that suits us both and allows to keep our distance from the crowds.

The route ahead was a mix of rock and ice. I felt a surge of happiness as I navigated a challenging traverse, likely the renowned Black Pyramid, without any nerves or shakiness. I could feel the improvement in my footwork and knew my recent climb on Nanga Parbat had prepared me for this.

After the traverse, we took a much-needed break before ascending into a cloud. The way the sunlight reflected within it created a surreal, eerie environment. Seeing old, orange ropes from previous expeditions gave me a false sense of security, almost as if we were within ski area boundaries. That illusion was shattered when we came across the body of an Afghan climber who had died the previous year. It was a stark reminder of how illusionary that feeling of safety truly was.

Next, we reached a plateau dotted with tents. I was flooded with relief, assuming we had arrived at our camp, but my heart sank when I realized this was the standard C3 and we were camping higher up. I saw a line of people and was dismayed to learn they were our own teammates, still heading upward. We stopped there for about 30 minutes to eat and drink.

Thundu and I proceeded upward while Lakpa stayed behind to melt water. The next section felt endless. The destination would appear close, only to stretch further away with each step. At one point, I took off my down suit top but quickly put it back on as the cold bit into me.. At times, I wondered about Thundu’s progress, but I was quickly reminded of his strength when I briefly turned off my own oxygen supply and could barely move. It always baffles me when I hear clients complain that their Sherpa is “slow.” Try carrying more weight with no O2, and then let’s see who is “slow”.

Eventually, we arrived at a nondescript, flattish area that would serve as our C3. No tents were up yet, as the Sherpas were busy digging platforms. As soon as one tent was ready, I crawled inside with PS and Kilu, determined not to let my body temperature plummet as it had the day before. Before long, a second tent was erected for the four of us to share. I managed to secure a spot on the edge, which I prefer because I get claustrophobic in the warmer center of the tent. It also makes exiting at night much easier, since I struggle to use a pee bottle in a crowded space.

We enjoyed some instant rice and ramen soup, a satisfying meal. Anticipating a rest day ahead, I felt relaxed, and sleep came easily.

7/26: Rest day camp 3.5

I was grateful for the rest day. A full day to hydrate and eat before the summit push seems to work well for me. While some climbers believe a rest day at this altitude diminishes their strength, I find the downtime beneficial. I can drift in and out of a sleep-like state filled with vivid dreams, but this is only possible because I am breathing supplemental oxygen at 0.5 liters per minute. This allows the body to actually recover. It’s a luxury climbers without oxygen don’t have; in the death zone, their bodies are in a constant state of deterioration, making a full rest day counterproductive.

While I enjoyed the break, our Sherpa team had no such respite, as they had to descend below C3 to retrieve our cached oxygen. Their dedication and capability were truly impressive, and I cherished the temporary solitude in the tent.
Once the Sherpas returned, we began to speculate whether we would leave for the summit that night. It was still snowing, and the rope-fixing team was positioned below us at the standard C3. Rumors from Base Camp suggested there was too much snow and not enough manpower. Despite the doubt, I prepared all my gear as if we were leaving in a few hours. I went to sleep with unsettling uncertainty.

7/27: Summit attempt #1

Around 8 pm, the sound of stoves melting snow woke me from a restless sleep. Thundu and I groggily began to prepare, emerging from our tent around 10 pm. Most climbers were already ahead, which I welcomed, hoping they had compacted the snow into a firmer trail. My hope was misplaced. The snow remained powdery and felt bottomless, and each step sent a jolt of pain through my arthritic knee. Frustration and fatigue set in with maddening speed. I told Thundu I was struggling, and we paused so I could take Naproxen. I considered taking Dexamethasone, a powerful steroid for inflammation and high-altitude cerebral edema (HACE). However, as an expedition doctor, I firmly believe that starting Dexamethasone signals an immediate descent. The medication stayed in my 1st-aid kit.

Soon, we reached the plateau that normally serves as Camp 4. This year it was devoid of tents as no teams were using it.. The altitude played tricks on my mind, conjuring whimsical thoughts of a hidden ski lodge or an all-night ski race checkpoint – a stark contrast to reality.

Pausing to hydrate, Thundu and I spotted the daunting Bottleneck couloir and traverse, where a long line of headlamps, motionless or crawling, sparked concern. Instinctively, I worried, experience teaching me that standing around would make us cold and waste precious oxygen. Thundu and I radioed basecamp, but Mingma G, unsure of the situation above, advised us to continue.

Shortly after, a small avalanche broke loose ahead, sending many climbers retreating. We were approaching the most dangerous part of the climb, and I knew I couldn’t continue in these conditions. I told Thundu, and to my relief, he agreed to descend. We radioed Mingma G our decision, and he didn’t object.
Later, friends asked if it was difficult to turn around. Honestly, it was one of the easiest decisions I’ve ever made. Only the next day did I learn that a Pakistani member of the rope-fixing team had fallen and was dying above us on the traverse.

As we retraced our steps, dawn broke, revealing a group ahead flying a drone. The sight was surreal, like a spaceship hovering above us. The challenging descent finally led us back to our tent, where we collapsed in exhaustion.

Waking a few hours later, I heard David and his Sherpa approaching. David, who had a history of lung issues, knew his climb was over. I remember feeling happy just to hear his voice. Soon after, John radioed in. He had lost his satellite tracker and knew his wife in Australia would be worried. Mingma, who was already in touch with her, had not only confirmed his safety but also revealed the news that John was climbing without supplemental oxygen.

Then, Mingma G contacted me with an updated forecast: a 24-hour window was opening before the next storm. He suggested Thundu and I attempt the summit again the following day. To my surprise, he added that Lakpa Sherpa would accompany us. Lakpa’s client had descended, so he was now free and eager for his own chance to summit and Thundu and I were thrilled to have him join us.
The news caught me off guard; I had already accepted my climb was over. But the idea was intriguing, as I wasn’t overly tired or sick. I asked for an hour to think. After exchanging texts with supportive friends and family, and with Thundu in agreement, our decision was made.

We spent the rest of the day listening to radio updates. News came in that Kristen Harila, John, and PS had all summited. I was surprised and happy for them, especially given the challenging conditions. In total, I believe close to 100 people made it to the top that day

Thundu, Lhakpa, and I drifted off to sleep around 5 pm

7/28: Summit attempt #2

We began preparing to depart around 6 pm. Stepping out of our tent, we saw a stream of headlamps descending from above while another line ascended from below. The climb back towards C4 was challenging, through a deep trench of unconsolidated snow. Despite the difficulty, I felt confident knowing the ropes were now fixed all the way to the summit. Among the climbers coming down were PS and Kilu Sherpa, whom I congratulated on their success.

Ascending past C4 to the point where we had turned back the previous night, we were relieved to find no line of headlamps impeding our progress. Moving through the Bottleneck, we reached a steep section just below the traverse. I was acutely aware that we were now underneath the massive, hanging serac. I focused only on what I could control: precise footwork, efficient ascender transfers, and steady breathing. It was there, tragically, that we encountered the body of Hassan, the high-altitude porter who had passed away the day before. The shock and sorrow were overwhelming, but I resolved to process his death later, once safely back at basecamp.

Summit K2!

Navigating the traverse, we confronted an icy slope that demanded precise front-pointing and absolute concentration. Midway through this section, I suddenly felt completely drained of energy. I recognized the sensation instantly: my oxygen tank was empty. Having experienced this before, I avoided panic and just kept climbing, focusing on each slow movement. Once above the steep ice, I rested briefly as Thundu assisted me in swapping out the oxygen tank. As we left the technical challenges behind, a surge of excitement stirred within me, although it was tempered by the somber presence of a deceased climber from Iceland who had died in 2021, a stark reminder of the mountain’s dangers.

The final stretch unfolded without incident, though it remained physically punishing as we wallowed through fresh snow. Around 7 am, we reached the summit plateau. It felt unreal to finally be standing there in the sun, with the summit almost to ourselves. We shared it with a couple from a Russian team, but otherwise, it was empty. After a few photos and some Gu Chews, we began our descent. I’ve never been one to celebrate on summits; it’s the furthest point from safety, and most climbers know the descent is where the majority of deaths occur.

Thundu, Tracee, Lakpa on K2 Summit

The descent was aided by the sun, which provided warmth and better visibility. After negotiating the Bottleneck, we paused for a much-needed rest and fuel. With a storm approaching, we hastily packed our gear at high camp and continued down. As we neared C3, we were enveloped in a cloud, and the flat light made the unroped sections treacherous. Arriving at C3, I saw numerous tents and trash left by other teams. I was too exhausted to be angry; I just climbed inside one of the abandoned tents with Thundu and Lakpa to get warm. We intended to rest briefly but unexpectedly drifted into a deep sleep for over an hour. Waking to a raging storm, we instantly discarded any thought of staying. C3 is notoriously avalanche-prone, and the snow was piling up fast.

The descent down the mountain was daunting. The initial snow slopes were manageable, but as we reached the Black Pyramid, the storm intensified. It became impossible to keep our goggles clear or our hands warm. After hours of meticulous rappelling, we reached the abandoned tents of what was likely the Russian team’s upper C2. At that moment, the wind froze a contact lens and blew it straight out of my eye. It was getting dark, we were completely exhausted, and now I needed to get into my pack. We decided to crawl inside one of the abandoned tents for the night. Once inside, we realized we were all shivering and becoming hypothermic. We melted some snow, found some old ramen soup to share, and fell into a fitful sleep.

Taking shelter in an abandoned tent near C2.

Houses Chimney – Photo Mingma G

7/29: C2 -> BC

I woke at daybreak, feeling as though I was emerging from suspended animation. The tent was silent, and for a moment I thought the storm had passed. Then I realized the sound was simply muffled by the heavy snow burying our tent. The night had been brutally cold, and the three of us huddled together for warmth. Because my down suit had gotten wet, I had slept only in my long underwear and a coat. I had stuffed the suit into my sleeping bag, hoping my body heat might dry it. To my chagrin, I discovered it had fallen out during the night and was now frozen nearly solid beside me. Reluctantly, I pulled the icy block into my sleeping bag, knowing I had no choice but to thaw it for the descent.
We fired up the stove to melt snow for water. With no food of our own left, we rummaged through the abandoned tent and found some instant soup and tea. We ate what we could, knowing our bodies needed the calories. None of us were eager to brave the storm outside, but while a part of me longed to wait it out, Mingma G’s voice crackling over the radio urged us to press on.

Exiting the tent, we were immediately hit by the storm’s full force. Visibility was near zero in the heavy snow and punishing winds. Navigating the rappels was a challenge, and I was deeply grateful for the assistance from Lhakpa and Thundu. When we arrived at House’s Chimney, we encountered two figures partway down who appeared to be stuck. Communication was impossible in the roaring wind. After a long, tense wait, Lhakpa rappelled down towards them. Thankfully, they were able to resolve the issue and resume their descent unharmed. The puzzling encounter was a stark reminder of how exhaustion disorients the mind at this altitude, and I was deeply relieved when we finally reached Camp 1.

The descent from C1 was uneventful as the weather slightly improved. The final trek down to ABC seemed endless, but the simple relief of being alive fueled every step.

Arriving at ABC was a moment of tremendous relief. We were greeted by one of our cooks who brought us Coca-Cola and candy; it might have been the best-tasting sugar I had ever consumed. After a brief rest, we embarked on the familiar journey back to basecamp under a clear, starlit sky, cautiously navigating the last of the crevasses.

Back at basecamp, we received a warm welcome from Mingma G, the cooks, and our teammates. As I settled into my own tent, enjoying hot soup and French fries, I was overcome with gratitude for Lhakpa and Thundu. Their support during the descent was invaluable. I knew their presence had been crucial to our survival.

K2 basecamp – Photo Mingma G

About dZi Foundation

dZi Foundation has worked in Nepal for more than 20 years, partnering with communities across the Koshi River Basin — in the Solukhumbu, Khotang, and Bhojpur districts — to build critical infrastructure, reliable water systems, inclusive livelihoods, and climate resilience. Their programs have reached over 61,000 people, with a goal of serving 33,000 more across six municipalities.

Every trekker on this journey commits to raising a minimum of $500 for dZi. Those funds go directly to the communities dZi serves — empowering marginalized households so that the next generation in Nepal can thrive.

To learn more about dZi Foundation, visit dzifoundation.org