April to August on the GHT

Author: Kristy Dixon

Where do you start to write after a 125-day adventure? How do you summarize or even attempt to convey the thousands of moments and challenges? Maybe by starting with why we went, what we found, and what it left us with…

Motivations for the GHT

We’d become hunched over, madly typing, timezone-jumping, stress-induced workaholics. As we hurtled toward mid-life, our bodies gently reminded us we were no longer bouncy, bendy 25-year-olds. We decided it was now or never for a longer, once-in-a-lifetime adventure. Mike had never been to Nepal, and this would be my third visit (the first in 2006 for a Three Passes trek in the Khumbu and second in 2015 for work in the Terai).

In 2024 we nearly finished the 1,100 km Great Divide Trail in Canada, but were forced to stop when wildfires devastated sections of the route. That taste of long-distance hiking left us wanting more. How could we manufacture that life for months on end? What trail was challenging enough to make us question our own sanity? Where could we spend 3-4 months walking and immerse ourselves in a different culture?

What better place in the world to answer these questions than the grand Himalaya.

We also wanted to dust off our mountaineering skills and experience high altitudes. The plan was bold: attempt the five technical passes and cross the country east to west during the monsoon, aiming to be in the Annapurna region (and its rain shadow) by June. We understood the risks not just for ourselves, but for the guides and others supporting us along the way.

Expectations of the GHT

Preparation for us meant hours of research, swapping notes with past trekkers, speaking with Robin Boustead, as well as reading Dave Brophy’s 2019 notes. I reached out to an old friend in Nepal, Ang Tshering Lama, who takes clients everywhere from treks in Pakistan to the summit of Everest. He was keen to help, setting the wheels in motion for permits, registered guides, a high-altitude porter for more technical sections, and dozens of other logistical details.

Ang once told me that the secret to being a good client in Nepal is to expect the unexpected. For people used to living by calendars and spreadsheets, the challenges started long before our boots touched the trail. We had a plan, but we realized it might not survive first contact with the mountains. Nature is always, ultimately, in control.

Advice also came from closer to home. My mum in Australia said, “Just put one foot in front of the other, that’s it.” Simple, grounding, and exactly the reminder I needed when rain poured, faces turned to misery, tendons flared, or opposing slopes looked impossible.

Yet we had chosen to experience discomfort. Whenever doubt crept in, our answer was always the same: “Just walk it off!”

Sure enough, our itinerary blew apart almost immediately. We passed over Sherpani and West Cols, Amphu Labsta, Tashi Labsta, and eventually Tilman’s Pass under good skies and little wind. Suddenly we were ten days ahead of schedule. Pasang, the high altitude porter, remarked: “You are lucky, Kristy.” By Dolpo, I would have spent my weather luck entirely.

Experiences along the way

The lighter-weight “thru-hiker” style hasn’t yet found its way as a common approach in the Himalaya, so outside the passes the locals and other trekkers often looked at us with surprise: two foreigners with only a guide.

We had leeches. We had rain. We had seven days straight without seeing the sun or blue sky. But those fade in memory compared to what we gained: views of every 8000 m peak except Annapurna I, which finally revealed itself as we flew from Nepalgunj to Kathmandu. Helicopters buzzed into snowy camps to rescue nearby exhausted climbers, leaving a precious slab of instant noodles and Coca-Cola (aka summit juice) that felt like Christmas morning. The delicious meals, the big smiles, the decorated mules, it was all incredible.

Not everything was easy. We lost a boot to a crevasse and clawed it back. We endured the brain fog of altitude, questionable local chicken dinners, homestay Chauri milk, and two weeks of stomach cramps so severe that 700m of gain up stone stairs felt like a Herculean effort. Food, in fact, became its own adventure. I tried nearly every type of biscuit available, confirming that coconut flavoured cookies and Top biscuits, are thru-hiker staples, while muesli bars are an absurd luxury. If you can get your hands on “Chinese biscuits” they provide heavy-duty calories. When we didn’t eat dahl bat for a day we craved it. True story.

The terrain was humbling. In Canada, random remote trails usually belong to large wild animals. In Nepal, every path connects lives. Our guides read the land in ways we couldn’t, threading routes through valleys, glaciers, and passes with practiced ease. We missed a rockfall that five minutes’ difference would have made deadly. We saw three snakes, crossed stable and unstable landslides, and skirted cliffs adjacent to chocolate-milk whitewater.

A dog followed us for 150km, from Kagbeni to Ringmo. We did our best to shoo him away, but he slinked behind us and eventually as we headed over multiple 5000 m+ passes we decided to feed him. He became our companion and we nicknamed him Sausage. Bravely crossing rivers and jumping on slippery boulders, Sausage stayed in Ringmo where we hope he lives out his days next to Phuksundo Lake.

And then there were the rivers. If the technical passes were our greatest planned challenge, the rivers were their unplanned rivals. After Tilman’s Pass we navigated terrain unmarked on the map, as the previous routes had disappeared with the churning moraine. In Dolpo, it rained. And it rained some more. Our weather luck ran out. And then it rained again. Crossing rivers meant threading a needle again and again, choosing risks carefully, never feeling recklessly unsafe but always knowing how thin the margin was. Sometimes it was pure luck depending on how much rain there had been the days before. Or guidance from a partially submerged excavator driver downstream of a mule skeleton!

At night, we slept in every imaginable condition: under filthy blankets you didn’t dare touch to your face, beside a live car battery in a yak herder’s hut, squeezed beneath a roof barely a metre high while a goat sneezed next to us and the wind howled. And then, as if to reset our expectations, there were the nights with white sheets and towels. Towels, of all things like hot water from the preceding shower, felt divine.

We saw crops sown, grown, and harvested. We used umbrellas that shielded us from the sun as much as rain. We had one dog bite. Saw three snakes. Slipped in mud. Teetered in snow. Traipsed in wet grass with wildflowers. Sweltered through corn fields. Visited an ancient Bon temple. Saw snow leopard footprints in fresh snow. Shared meals with countless friendly and curious people who face greater hardship each day than we can imagine. As the days pass since our adventure, more memories surface. The Great Himalaya Trail is a gift you enjoy for the rest of your life.

After our crossing we stayed for a few weeks, which meant we were in Nepal at a time of political change. Protests escalated, the government fell, and within days the streets returned to a kind of “normal.” The resilience of Nepal amazed us, and we hope this new chapter brings the opportunities that the country’s young people so deeply deserve.

Reflections after the adventure

Looking back, I am struck first by the adaptability of the human body. What felt impossible one week became routine the next. In our 125-day journey, we took 102 walking days, 20 zero days, and three sick days.

Speaking of days, these days it’s harder to choose a ‘right’ time to trek. Historic weather patterns may not hold the same weight, and the Himalaya is clearly feeling the impacts of a shifting climate. Even now, in October 2025, a season when many hit the trails, landslides and blizzards are resulting in loss of life. Whatever the month in Nepal, like any mountain environment, hazards are part of the journey.

We were reminded again and again of the kindness of people across Nepal. The Khumbu may be Nepal’s Disneyland, but beyond its well-trodden trails lies the heartbeat of the country. Our Tamang guides Som and Mingma didn’t just lead us safely, they made our journey richer, teaching us about culture, food, songs, and ways of moving through the land.

Change is coming quickly to Nepal, as roads and electricity spread. It’s not for us to wish otherwise when those things bring medicine, education, and livelihoods. And, on our walk we glimpsed a doorway to the past, of ancient trade routes still passed by mule and yak trains, morphing into modern day roads passed by clattering 4WDs and tired tractors.

By the end in Hilsa, we felt not only surreal pride but younger, as though the months had shaved ten, maybe twenty years off our bodies. Screens and chairs, it turns out, are far more dangerous than mountain passes. And above all, we learned there is something about the Himalaya that no other mountain range can match. It’s not just the elevation, not just the scale, not just the culture, or the incredible people. It has a magic that never leaves you.

Kristy and Mike plan to share a video of their adventure in 2026 via alpinefuzzies.com