Most Popular Entries

On The Map

Ama Dablam doesn’t need an introduction — it’s the mountain that makes everyone stop mid-trek, pull out their phone, and say “what mountain is that?” It looks impossible, like a granite shark fin dropped into the Khumbu. And we got to climb it. After a few weeks of hiking, acclimatizing, and a lot of time perfecting our tea-to-oxygen ratio, our team made a summit push. We climbed to Camp 1 at 19,000 ft followed by Camp 3, then up to the summit. We skipped the infamous, and smelly, Camp 2 to avoid the cramped "sleeping" and opted to climb the Grey Tower in the daylight with No Crowds!! 

We left Camp 3 in the wee hours of the morning due to the wind whipping across the seemingly near vertical wall facing you. We needed the sun to start making the air warmer, though the face doesn't get sun for quite some time in the mornings.  The fixed lines started right out of camp, and we got into a rhythm quickly — one step, one jumar, a deep breath, repeat. The climbing from Camp 3 is the kind of terrain that keeps you smiling even while your legs burn. It’s steep, exposed, and wildly scenic — you look down and realize how much of the world is way below you. A few hours later, we were standing on the summit — some wind, blue skies, and the type of view that doesn’t feel real until you’re back at basecamp scrolling through your photos thinking, “oh yeah, that actually happened.”

We had opted to head all the way back down to basecamp after our climb, which made for a long day, but a worthwhile endeavor, nonetheless. A hot meal, a mattress, a warm dome, all after summitting one of the most iconic peaks on earth. We got back in the dark, but damn was it worth it. 

Ama Dablam always lives up to the hype, a mix of gritty weather, unreal scenery, and the kind of that technical climbing that makes you grateful for strong ropes and stronger people.

Huge thanks to our Sherpa team, the staff at basecamp, and everyone back home following along. 

Until next time,

RMI Guide Dominic Cifelli

Friday May 16, 2025 11:10 pm PDT

We had the perfect rest day. It was in turns quite snowy, whiteout and incredibly hot, and blue and calm. We crushed a breakfast hash scramble, then some cinnamon buns, then lingered in the cook tent swapping stories and stretching. That gave way to midday siesta/saunas. Eventually Nick and Ben got motivated and dug a pit to hang skis over and make a passable pull-up bar (#lookatmenowpaul). Video evidence was collected of numbers 100 and 101 from both Ben and Nick. No wasting away and getting weak on Denali for those two. A good dinner, and we’re hoping to wake to weather that lets us make the next move.

RMI Guide Pete Van Deventer & Team

The jagged, monolithic peaks of the lower Kalithna begin to make themselves visible again.

We have just torn down camp. The anticipation of this moment has been building even greater since our departure was delayed by yesterday’s fog. The midnight sunshine just beyond the horizon still illuminates us deep into the night making the time of 1:55am seem wildly incorrect. We begin to move.

It’s now 3:12am. We’ve descended the hazy 600ft from base camp and sit just beyond the danger of the house-sized seracs looming off the side of Mt. Frances. Directly in front of us as we sit and replenish ourselves with food and drink is Mt. Crosson. Just left of it looms the beautiful Mt. Foraker, its upper half hidden just hidden behind a small cloud system. Our rest comes to an end. It’s time to begin the ever so slightly increasing grade up towards our next camp.

As we move the air is light and serene. Other than the sound of our snowshoes crunching the snow beneath our feet and our sleds sliding, there is no other noise for miles around us. In my left earbud plays Fryslan by Phil Cook. The pattern of our movement becomes hypnotic. My world becomes managing my pace to avoid stepping on the rope in front of me, interspersed with seconds of beholding the ether that surrounds me. To our right, an orange and magenta hue begins to materialize in the Alaskan sky as the sun begins to return from its brief absence beyond the horizon. Looking upward towards it presents our desired destination, veiled in a partially transparent fog, like a bride on her wedding day, Denali appears. It beams with a beauty matched by very few other things in this world.

We continue forward entranced by the sight. The weight of our heavy packs and sleds begin to melt away as we gaze upon the peak. A solemnity fills the moment that feels religious in nature. There is no more music playing in my earbuds. It is just the rhythmic beating of our snowshoes that fills my ears, and this epic sight that fills my eyes. I am totally absorbed. Quickly as this moment came, so it did depart, as again the mountain would hide itself behind an immense fog, abruptly returning us to the physical realm.

Enriched by this experience, we press forward, climbing steeper terrain before reaching a plateau which will lead us to our next camp site. The going is slow and heavy. Chilling cold air pockets move through our path at times. We break one final time before making the final mile push to camp. Upon arrival our guides probe the area upon which we will be building our living quarters for the next couple days (hopefully). We finish just before 9am. Crawling into our sleeping bags for “night,” we adorn the proper attire of sleeping masks to block out the now powerfully shining rays of the sun to spend the day resting for the journey which is set to continue early tomorrow morning once again.

As I now lay in my sleeping bag, my tent mates asleep beside me, I sense a number of emotions within me: satisfaction, anxiety, excitement, connectedness, all of which seem to stem from the same place: a determination to succeed at this challenge as a team. I close my eyes as gentle folk music softly plays in my earbuds once again. “One thing at a time,” I remind myself.

For now, all there is to do is to rest.

RMI Climber Thomas Goossen