On October 15, 2026, I put down a $1,000 deposit on a mountain I am not ready to climb.
That sentence sounds slightly reckless. Maybe it is. But Himlung Himal is now on the calendar for October 2027, which means I have a year to become someone capable of standing at 7,126 meters, or 23,379 feet, and still making reasonably intelligent decisions.
The deposit took about a minute. The preparation will take a year.
That imbalance is probably the most honest thing about mountaineering.
The Right Next Mountain
I have spent a good part of the last few years at altitude. Kilimanjaro introduced me to what thin air can do to a body. Aconcagua taught me how long a mountain can feel when the summit is visible but still days away. Denali showed me how much weight, weather, and repetition can strip life down to its simplest parts.
I have also trekked to Everest Base Camp, crossed Nepal’s Three Passes, reached K2 Base Camp, crossed Gondogoro La, and spent enough nights in a tent to know that I somehow continue forgetting how uncomfortable tents are.
But I have never climbed above 7,000 meters.
That mattered when I started looking for the next mountain. I did not want another version of something I had already done. I wanted a real step forward, but not one chosen purely because it sounded impressive.
There is always a bigger mountain. There is always a more technical route. There is always someone online eager to explain why your particular goal is not difficult enough.
Mountains are useful for exposing that kind of ego.
The right next climb is not necessarily the most dangerous or dramatic option available. It is the one that asks more of you without requiring you to pretend you have skills you do not yet possess.
For me, that mountain became Himlung Himal.
Why Himlung
Himlung rises to 7,126 meters in Nepal’s Peri Himal, close to the Tibetan border. The approach leaves the busier Annapurna trail and moves through the remote Nar and Phu valleys before reaching base camp at roughly 4,900 meters.
That approach was part of the appeal.
I did not want to fly directly into a crowded mountain circus, take a summit photo, and leave. I wanted the villages, the gradual approach, and the time required to watch the landscape change. I wanted the expedition to begin before the climbing did.
Himlung is often described as an entry-level 7,000-meter mountain. “Entry-level” becomes a fairly ridiculous phrase when the entry point is higher than anything in North America.
It is considered less technically complex than many mountains at the same elevation, and its standard route has fewer objective hazards than several alternatives. That does not make it easy. It still involves glacier travel, fixed ropes, crampons, ice axes, three high camps, long rotations, severe cold, and an altitude where the body is actively losing ground.
At 7,126 meters, competence matters. So does patience. So does knowing when the mountain has made the decision for you.
That combination is exactly what I wanted. Himlung is a logical progression without being a ceremonial victory lap.
The Mountain I Did Not Choose
For a while, Baruntse pulled at me more.
It looked sharper, wilder, and perhaps more cinematic. If I were choosing a mountain based only on the photograph, I might have chosen differently.
But I was not choosing a poster for the wall. I was choosing where to spend a month of my life and how I wanted to develop as a climber.
The more I thought about it, the less interested I became in selecting a mountain because it looked more impressive to someone else. Himlung offered the altitude progression, expedition structure, remoteness, and Himalayan experience I was actually looking for.
It felt like the smarter mountain.
I have learned that “smarter” and “easier” are not the same thing. Sometimes the smarter decision is still extremely difficult. It just has a reason beyond proving that you can suffer.
Choosing the Team
The operator mattered almost as much as the mountain.
I chose Namas Adventure because the company is Nepali-rooted, runs smaller teams, and felt more personal than being absorbed into a giant commercial operation. The expedition includes a lead guide, 1:1 Sherpa support, a gradual acclimatization approach, and multiple rotations through three high camps.
The plan is not simply to arrive at base camp and start climbing upward. We will spend time allowing our bodies to adapt, move equipment higher, return to recover, and wait for the right conditions.
There is no efficiency hack for acclimatization. The mountain does not care how productive you normally are.
That is part of why I keep going back.
At home, enough preparation and control can create the illusion that life will follow the spreadsheet. At altitude, you can train correctly, bring the right equipment, make sound decisions, and still be turned around by weather, illness, conditions, or your own body.
The preparation matters enormously. It just does not purchase certainty.
What the Other Mountains Left Behind
Every large mountain has changed the way I approach the next one.
Aconcagua taught me that a summit can become less important as you get closer to it. Denali taught me that I can remain useful while exhausted, cold, and carrying far more than I would willingly carry anywhere else. K2 Base Camp and Gondogoro La taught me how quickly a place can move between beautiful and hostile.
The mountains have also exposed the gaps.
I need to become stronger without losing endurance. I need more time carrying weight uphill. I need to improve my rope systems until they feel boring. I need to train for multiple long days instead of one heroic workout followed by three days of walking strangely.
Most importantly, I need to build a body that can recover while the work continues.
Himlung will not care what I have already climbed. Previous summits are useful experience, not store credit.
The Year Between Here and There
The expedition runs from October 1 through October 30, 2027.
That date changes the way I look at the next year.
There will eventually be a 16-week expedition-specific training program, but the real preparation begins much earlier. It will be built through weighted hikes, strength work, long aerobic sessions, recovery, rope practice, and a lot of ordinary mornings when there is no mountain anywhere nearby.
The dramatic part is putting a 7,000-meter summit on the calendar.
The meaningful part is everything that happens on the Tuesdays between now and then.
That is the side of mountaineering I want to document honestly. Not only the summit footage or the clean photographs taken when the weather cooperates. I want to show the repetitive training, the doubts, the adjustments, the small improvements, and the days when running a company makes a four-hour training session feel completely unreasonable.
Gevity will not pause because I decided to climb a mountain. My marriage, work, team, and responsibilities will all continue. The challenge is not escaping those things for a month. It is preparing for Himlung while remaining present for the life I have chosen at home.
That may be the more difficult expedition.
A Goal With No Guarantee
I am not writing this as someone who has climbed Himlung.
I have paid the deposit. I have selected the team. I have put the dates on the calendar. That is all.
There is no summit story yet.
There is a chance I train for a year, travel to Nepal, spend weeks acclimatizing, and never stand on top. Weather could close the mountain. My body could struggle. The team could make the right decision to turn around.
That possibility does not make the goal less worthwhile. It makes the preparation more honest.
A summit is a clean ending, but mountains rarely owe us one.
For now, Himlung is simply a point on the horizon. It gives the next year direction. It asks me to become stronger, more patient, more technically capable, and a little less impressed by my own plans.
On October 15, I put down a deposit on a mountain I am not ready to climb.
Now I get to do the interesting part.
I get to become ready.
