I was asked recently by a good friend on our way to hike if I would ever want to climb Mt. Rainier. Without even thinking about it, I responded, “No.” To be certain, Mt. Rainier is an amazing and compelling challenge—it has a lot going for it. I wouldn’t have to travel around the world to reach it. Elevation is not even a consideration—I’ve already been much higher. I could eat familiar foods along the route. Seattle is only a short nonstop flight away. And once on the mountain, the standard Disappointment Cleaver route typically requires only three to four days to reach the summit—weather permitting.
But when it comes to mountains, those attributes don’t check the boxes that matter most to me. From the time I was 18, shortly after earning the rank of Eagle Scout in the Boy Scouts, Reinhold Messner sparked a dream in me that eventually would become a fascination with big mountains and Mt. Everest in particular, and lead me to a different kind of place.
1978
In 1978, when I was 18, Reinhold Messner and Peter Habeler became the first climbers to summit Everest without supplemental oxygen. Eight years later, Messner became the first person to summit all fourteen of the world’s 8,000-meter peaks—a feat requiring 16 years.
In the years that followed, I can recall only one event that captured my imagination as powerfully as Messner’s accomplishments: the death of Rob Hall during the May 1996 disaster on Mt. Everest. The sequence of events on Mt. Everest, both on and leading up to that disaster, was chronicled in detail by Jon Krakauer in Into Thin Air. This was, for me, the best-written first-hand account of any mountaineering tragedy I’d ever read. It remains so to this day.
To be clear, I never judged myself to have the physical ability or experience necessary to reach big summits. I was content just to SEE big mountains. Walking ON them was just a vision I had in those years. And Mt. Everest? I never thought I’d get the chance to see Mt. Everest, much less make it to—and higher than—Everest Base Camp. I can trace my fascination with the mountains to this point in my life—and I immersed myself in reading all the books I could find on the subject of mountaineering and the great ascents of the major peaks around the world.
In the 37 years following Messner and Peter Habeler’s ascent of Everest without supplemental oxygen, I never climbed a single mountain or experienced high-altitude trekking.
2015
I cannot recall with any certainty when I first heard about the events of April 25, 2015. I do recall, however, spotting a series of NASA satellite images showing Langtang Valley before and after the earthquake.
NASA’s satellite imagery shows a bird’s-eye view of Langtang Village, then the largest settlement in Nepal’s remote Langtang Valley, within walking distance of the Tibetan border.
The Gorkha earthquake, as it later became known, struck Nepal at 11:56 a.m. on April 25, 2015. Its epicenter was in Nepal’s Gorkha District.
Langtang is often regarded as one of the world’s most beautiful valleys, dominated by the massive, glacier-covered Langtang Lirung, which rises more than 7,200 meters above sea level. During the earthquake, massive quantities of glacial ice, rock, and debris broke loose from the slopes above Langtang and crashed into the valley below, instantly devastating Langtang Village.
In Langtang Valley, more than 200 people lost their lives when, in the blink of an eye, the earthquake triggered an enormous avalanche of ice, rock, and debris that destroyed much of the village, burying homes and victims beneath a massive debris field.
That nightmare served as my inspiration to trek the Langtang region in 2023 as my first foray into high-altitude trekking.
2023
By the end of 2022, I had decided to spend 16 days in 2023 trekking through the Himalayas with a hired porter and guide to see what was out there. Solo.
For most of my life, I dreamt of Mt. Everest, but it would wait. Langtang could not. Langtang is a hauntingly beautiful valley from the moment you step foot out of Syabrubesi, the village that lies at the foot of the valley. Its lush, steep walls, covered in rhododendrons, rise above the Langtang Khola. The river rushes down-valley from high beneath Langtang Lirung, a 7,200-meter behemoth of a glaciated mountain towering more than a mile overhead.
Why Visit The Langtang Valley
My decision to make Langtang Valley my first Himalayan trekking experience was actually fairly simple. I wanted to meet the people who came back after 2015—the villagers, the Sherpas, the farmers. I wanted to hear their stories. Nearly every adult in those sparsely populated villages had experienced the loss of family, friends, property—or all three. The 2022 docudrama Aftershock recreated the days following the earthquake in a way that only cemented my decision. I booked the journey with a Kathmandu-based tour operator that guided me safely through the valley.
On many treks in the Himalayas, trekkers begin their journey in tropical-like settings—warm, green, and frequently raining. Langtang Valley is no exception. The first days are characterized by steep climbs along the valley walls followed by equally sharp descents back to the river. The trail repeatedly crisscrosses the valley on bridges spanning the rushing Bhote Koshi and Langtang Khola rivers. By the third day, the valley begins to open up to expose the glaciated summits of the high alpine, thousands of feet above the timberline where the green vanishes and gives way to only three colors: craggy black rock, white glaciers, and vivid blue skies.
Langtang Village
There comes a point on the third day of that trek, at around 13,000 feet of elevation, where trekkers must cross the debris field covering the former Langtang Village if they want to continue ascending to Kyanjin Gompa, the de facto base camp for nearby peaks such as Yala Peak and Tsergo Ri. After the destruction of Langtang Village, Kyanjin Gompa became the largest village in Langtang—and a place where most stop to acclimatize before attempting to go higher.
The only way to reach Kyanjin Gompa on foot—it is accessible by helicopter—is to walk over the debris field that buries the old Langtang Village. The trauma and loss of April 25, 2015 remain deeply embedded in Kyanjin Gompa. Countless shrines pay homage to the victims. There is a beautiful and touching memorial in the dining room of the Panorama Guest House where I rested upon reaching Kyanjin Gompa. A particularly poignant reminder of the tragedy was a clock on the wall of the dining room with the hands frozen at 11:56 a.m. the moment the earthquake struck.
It was Silent
My guide, my porter, and I crossed the debris field on our way up-valley to Kyanjin Gompa late in the morning. We were the only ones there. It was silent. We stopped and took pictures of the debris field we were about to cross, but no one said a word about what lay beneath. Those few hundred yards across the massive field of talus reminded me of the sadness people in that valley continue to feel; and of the very real objective dangers involved in climbing, trekking, and living in places like Langtang Valley.
Since 2015, a new Langtang Village has taken shape, about half a mile up-valley in a location deemed safer and more protected from landslides and avalanches.
What NASA had published as a scientific observation from space, I discovered in Langtang was the prologue to a human story on Earth. The scientists who first spotted and analyzed those satellite images had no idea how those images would transform my life—nor did I.
2024
If Messner’s feat was the spark that ignited my desire to climb on; not necessarily to the top of—Mt. Everest, my trek through Langtang Valley in 2023 was like pouring gasoline on the fire. By January 2024, my mind was made up: I would trek to Everest Base Camp and, if healthy and able, higher—to the top of Kala Patthar, at about 18,500 feet.
I was looking forward to my second trip to the Himalayas so much that I must have packed and repacked my North Face Basecamp Duffel a hundred times in the weeks preceding my departure. Every evening was filled with YouTube content featuring other amateurs’ experiences on the trail to Everest Base Camp.
After experiencing some loneliness in Langtang Valley the prior year, I decided to join a team for Everest Base Camp (“EBC”). On returning from Langtang, I also concluded that I would seek out a different expedition company than the one that supplied my porter and guide there. I conducted some research online and watching lots of YouTube videos published by expedition companies and their clients. I stumbled upon Ian Taylor Trekking, based in Eagle-Vail, Colorado. Its website was full of information about treks around the world, and the volume of information about its Everest Base Camp treks was impressive.
The Colorado Connection
I was in Edwards, Colorado, at the time and invited Ian and his wife, Laura Gravino, to meet me for a beer in Minturn, a tiny former mining town located at the midpoint between Eagle-Vail and Edwards. The three of us met, and they answered a few of my questions. I soon paid my deposit, recruited a few people to join me, and was all set not only to see and trek on Mt. Everest, but also to experience the amazing and challenging trek required to get there.
Unfortunately, part of the group I recruited to join me backed out before their final payment was due, worried they had not trained hard enough to make it safely to over 18,000 feet of elevation and back down. But I was happy to have my climbing partner, Jim, with me. For one thing, I was worried about my age—and about being the oldest member of the team, holding everyone back, and embarrassing myself. Jim is my age—we’re both 66—and I figured the more “old guys” on the team, the better. You might imagine my relief to discover upon arriving in Kathmandu for that trip that there were no fewer than six of us over 60 on the team—but I was the elder statesman, by a few months.
I was pleasantly surprised to discover how well I managed physically on the EBC trek, not only up to EBC but the following morning on Kala Patthar, around 1,000 vertical feet higher than base camp. I also discovered that, with only one exception, everyone else over 60 was very well prepared for the challenge, dispelling any notions I had that I was too old to be there.
New Friendships
I could write a book about that trek, but for me, one of the greatest highlights was making lasting friendships with fellow trekkers from the UK, Canada, Israel, Spain, and Poland. It was also the first time I got to spend time with Ian and Laura, who sometimes lead treks themselves but more often leave the guiding to the capable lead guides they have worked with and developed over many years of operating in Asia, Latin America, and northern and eastern Africa.
I also came to truly enjoy the company of the guides, many of them Sherpas. The Sherpa people trace their heritage to Tibet; their ancestors crossed the high mountain passes from Tibet and settled high in the Nepali Himalayas centuries ago. Many of the Sherpas I met followed Tibetan Buddhist traditions, while also reflecting the influences of Hindu customs found throughout Nepal. Nepal was a true melting pot of faiths and cultures that were very new and intriguing to me.
I would be remiss if I didn’t share what it felt like when, on the third day of the trek after arriving in Lukla, we awoke early for the first of numerous acclimatization rotations—to get our bodies slowly accustomed to the lack of oxygen in the air. Our bodies need to build up the store of red blood cells required to manage the thinner air we were to encounter in the coming days as we ascended.
The Light Shines Through
Until that day, the skies had been mostly overcast, and we experienced a lot of rain down low between 9,000 and 13,000 feet above sea level. On that day, however, we awoke to mostly sunny skies. Within a few hours of ascending, it would become the most special day of the trek for me.
At around noon, we arrived at a point where we would stop to rest—and dance—just as some nearby clouds were lifting to reveal the most amazing sight. Everest was basking in the sunlight of a beautiful Himalayan blue-sky day in all its glory. I am sure other clients felt the same way. It was almost dreamlike. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
It was only the second time in my life I danced. The first was at my wedding 40 years ago. Dancing in the mountains was a ritual our Sherpa guides embraced. I was forced to participate out of fear of being perceived as a stick in the mud.
I don’t want to make it sound like actually reaching EBC was anticlimactic. It surely was not. But I don’t think anything in nature can compare with seeing Mt. Everest from a nearby Himalayan summit or high viewpoint for the first time. EBC was extraordinary, too. It was the thrill of a lifetime to actually stand on that mountain—anywhere on that mountain.
Just getting there is quite an accomplishment, requiring training, planning, logistics, endurance, strength, tolerance of altitude and cold weather, and an ability to manage hardship—especially as you ascend ever higher on the mountain.
The Local People
The villagers made a huge impact on me. I talked to many of them, as well as members of our team—Sherpas, porters, and guides who hail from the villages. Their spirituality, strength of character and body, and work ethic made a lasting impression on me. It was a joy to spend time with the villagers on the way from Lukla to EBC.
What struck me was that the people I met rarely seemed preoccupied with what others possessed. They were welcoming and grateful for what they did have, which often did not include a lot of physical possessions.
When I asked a woman working in the kitchen of a tea house if she was happy with her life, with what she had and what she earned, she answered, “Yes.”
Her answer to my next question surprised me.
“Do you want more?” I asked.
“Yes. Everyone wants more. Life is hard in the Himalayas,” she said.
Her answer stayed with me. I came to understand that wanting more is not the same as coveting what other people have, and I would never begrudge anyone who doesn’t have much for wanting more.
Since spending time in the Andes, East Africa, India, and Nepal, I have never looked at people living in poverty the same way. Before trekking around the world, I shared what I suspect is a common misunderstanding among many people in the U.S. about poverty in developing nations. I thought people in developing nations were content with their lot in life simply because they were unfamiliar with the consumption culture of the West.
I suspect that once upon a time that may have been more true than it is today. Even in many communities with very little material wealth, smartphones and access to the internet are increasingly common. Satellite receivers are becoming more common as well. The culture of consumption is visible in places where it may once have seemed far away.
The Need is Great
I’ve learned firsthand that just because people are polite, welcoming, hardworking, and cheerful doesn’t mean they wouldn’t enjoy a little food security, a day off, an opportunity to experience other places, an education, better shelter from the elements, healthcare, and better government.
I no longer romanticize poverty by assuming that cheerful, gracious people are content to go without basic security.
After returning from the Himalayas in 2024, I fell into a post-EBC funk for several months. I was missing people I had become fast friends with over nine days on the trail to EBC. I had just done something—accomplished something—I never thought I’d do, never thought I COULD do. It was the most amazing adventure, and one that could never be topped.
That was my mindset.
2025 and 2026
Never underestimate how hard it is to gather people together to climb a big mountain. You need people who are strong—but not too strong, or they will leave you in their dust. You need people who have time and resources—and a willingness to use them to travel abroad to do physically demanding things in often hostile but indisputably beautiful environments.
High-altitude trekking and climbing is not a beach vacation or a Caribbean cruise. If someone is going to join you on one of these adventures, they have to commit themselves to training. They have to be generally fit and in good health. Their lifestyle needs to allow them to be away from home and creature comforts for at least a week—and, in some cases, for two or three weeks or more. They must be comfortable being off the grid for periods of time. They have to be tolerant of cold, wind, snow, and rain. And speaking of tolerance, they must be altitude tolerant and willing to acclimatize properly.
The tough thing about altitude tolerance is that you don’t really know until you’ve been there. Just because you don’t have a problem with altitude at 14,000 feet doesn’t mean you’re going to do well at 18,000 feet. A friend who regularly climbs 14ers in Colorado might seem like an ideal trekking partner, only to find himself on a stretcher at 15,000 feet, heading down in a helicopter with a bad case of AMS. Proper acclimatization, hydration, and a slow, steady pace play indispensable roles in avoiding altitude sickness, but some people simply tolerate altitude and the climatic challenges that accompany it better than others.
2024
By late winter 2024, as I was scheming with Ian and Laura about joining them on Mt. Kilimanjaro for one of their January 2025 summit trips, I was coming up with a shortlist of prospective hiking partners, too.
Jim, who trekked with me to EBC and up to Kala Patthar, had been an amazing companion on my EBC trek. He called me one day that winter and told me he wanted to climb Kilimanjaro. I told him I’d go, too, but I ended up going with Ian and Laura, and Jim wasn’t free on those dates.
I asked Jola and her husband, Marcin; both of whom had trekked to EBC with me if they wanted to join me. I knew Jola had already been making plans. I was delighted to hear that she was coming to Kilimanjaro, too. Marcin had a conflict. I was happy to have a friend from EBC on Kili, in addition to Laura and Ian, who were actually working very hard and were not there to be my companions.
Unfortunately, despite climbing in January, one of the driest months of the year on Kili, Laura recalls that we experienced the most precipitation she had seen in dozens of successful summit trips. It rained most of every day until we ascended to 16,000 feet, when the rain turned to snow and we entered the clouds.
It took some reflection on that trip to put things into proper perspective. I had an amazing climb with great people on yet another adventure of a lifetime. This trip was expertly planned and executed by a trekking operator I had come to trust completely. I spent time with guides, porters, cooks, and camp attendants and remain in contact with many of them.
Living in The Clouds
I experienced terrain and flora that were otherworldly as we ascended from camp to camp—until there was nothing to see at all. Above 16,000 feet, we were inside the clouds all the way to the 19,000-plus-foot summit, and at times it was difficult to see more than a short distance in front of me.
Not being able to admire the beautiful views was only mildly disappointing. I was not deterred from savoring the moment on top of Africa. I was grateful to be there, despite the freezing cold and the wet, semi-frozen gear.
Summit day on Kili is a long and grueling affair, beginning shortly after midnight and setting out in the dark. I wore spikes to help with traction in the snow and a headlamp to light the way. I arrived at the summit shortly after sunrise.
We stayed only briefly—there was no view—for a couple of pictures, and then began our long descent to around 9,000 feet. Twelve hours of moving is a real test of endurance in any environment, but it is extreme at altitude in wet conditions, wearing wet clothes and carrying a wet pack.
I wouldn’t trade my experience with anyone who had clear, sunny skies.
On our final day in Arusha, Ian and Laura introduced me to Adam, who runs a small group home for young orphans and abandoned children. Together, Ian, Laura, Jola, and I visited the children at the orphanage, loaded them into a van, and took them on a field trip to the local market in Arusha to buy uniforms, school supplies, and other items. They loved it, and we enjoyed seeing the smiles on their faces.
The Ian Taylor Trekking Foundation (“ITTF”)—and, before its formation, Ian and Laura personally—has provided funding for the orphanage to help with rent, food, and other necessities. The home is clean and safe and provides the basic necessities these children need from day to day. There is no waste, no middleman, no frills.
In similar fashion, the foundation—and, before its formation, Ian and Laura—has provided funding for the Everest School in Uganda, a schools in Goli, a small village far from trekkers and tourists where many members of their support staff live. Other remote villages from which Ian recruits porters and support staff also receive help from ITTF.
Later in 2025
I took my niece, Rose, with me to Peru, where we trekked on the Inca Trail, camping along the way for four days with Ian Taylor Trekking. As with my past experiences, the journey consisted of far more than hiking to Machu Picchu; which would have been amazing enough.
The planning, food, rest stops, and ground support in Cusco and on the trail were exceptional. More important, the guides would have put many museum docents to shame with their deep understanding of the culture and history of the Sacred Valley, the Quechua people, whose language and culture are deeply entwined with the history of the Inca Empire, and the history of the Spanish conquest.
It wasn’t a race to Machu Picchu so much as it was a relaxed, though challenging, immersive cultural experience in one of the world’s great landscapes, culminating at one of the New Seven Wonders of the World and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Here, too, in the Peruvian Andes, I enjoyed meeting Quechua people, hearing their stories, and making new friends from around the world. Like Everest and Kili, the Inca Trail is a magnet for the fit, curious, and adventurous from all corners of the Earth.
And then, on August 26, 2026, Langtang came back into my life.
If the tragedy in Langtang in 2015 wasn’t enough evidence of the objective—or environmental—risks inherent in mountainous places, the events of August 26, 2026 cemented the notion.
Just days before I sat down to write this post, a massive collapse of glacial ice and rock high in the mountains near the Nepal-Tibet border triggered an extraordinary chain of events. An avalanche of ice, rock, and debris crashed into the valley below and generated a violent debris flow that surged through the river systems feeding the Bhote Koshi and Trishuli. Within minutes, communities along the Nepal-Tibet border were overwhelmed.
Syabrubesi, where I spent two days in 2023 before beginning my trek into Langtang Valley, was directly affected.
The images were difficult for me to comprehend. This was the same village from which I had begun walking into the Himalayas three years earlier. Roads, bridges, buildings, hydropower facilities, and entire communities along the river corridor were destroyed or buried beneath water, mud, rock, and debris.
And unlike the early reports available when I first began writing this story, it soon became clear that the human toll was enormous. Hundreds of people were confirmed dead in Nepal and Tibet, thousands remained missing, and tourists and pilgrims from numerous countries were among the unaccounted for.
This was not simply another monsoon flood
Scientists examining satellite imagery concluded that a catastrophic collapse of glacier ice and rock high in the mountains initiated the disaster. Warming temperatures, deteriorating permafrost, changing precipitation patterns, or other climatic forces have all been mentioned as possible culprits—and these things will likely be studied for years.
The Himalayas have taught me one thing repeatedly: mountains do not have to be climbed to be dangerous. Sometimes simply being beneath them, or downstream from them, can be risky. And sometimes the difference between tragedy and survival is judgment. And sometimes it is simply luck.
Shortly after the Ian Taylor Trekking Foundation was formed in December 2025, Robin and I made our first contribution. We made another in celebration of her 65th birthday.
In the spring of 2026
Robin and I spent around ten days on the African continent, much of it in East Africa in Arusha and Ngorongoro. This visit was not about trekking or climbing. We were there to visit friends—and to directly support people and causes that Ian and Laura, along with their friend Athumani, had first introduced to me. Athumani leads their large support team in East Africa.
With Athumani as our personal guide for the week, I enjoyed one of the most fulfilling weeks of my life—right up there, figuratively, not literally, with standing on top of Kilimanjaro or Kala Patthar.
We arranged for a bus and picked up all 28 kids in the orphanage one afternoon and brought them to a family-friendly theme park called Fun Retreat for the afternoon and a blowout dinner with burgers, pizza, chicken, soda, and dessert. Their daily diet consists largely of rice, with occasional protein—usually beans. The children were smiling ear to ear from the moment we arrived until we closed the place down and loaded the bus. And wow—did they eat! They absolutely loved the food and the rides. So did we.
Education Matters
One of our areas of focus is education. Athumani, Shabani—one of the lead guides on Kili—Robin, and I spent a day with another friend, Mandy, who founded and runs NEEMA International, a first-class private secondary boarding school in the Uru community just outside Arusha. One of our goals for 2026 is to establish fully funded scholarships for kids as they reach secondary-school age, giving them an opportunity for success that might otherwise remain out of reach. For children from families with very limited resources, access to a strong secondary education can dramatically expand their opportunities.
Robin and I had some feelings of guilt about spending money at Fun Retreat—it wasn’t nothing—on such a fleeting luxury. For roughly the same amount, we could have fed all 28 kids for two months, paid the orphanage’s rent for a year, or funded a full year of private secondary education for one child.
Robin and I really had regrets about indulging the children that way until Adam put it differently. He told me that many of these children might never again experience an evening like the one they had at Fun Retreat. It is a luxury out of reach for most families—much less orphans who survive day to day on little more than rice.
Their smiles said it all.
For one night in Arusha, 28 kids got to simply be kids.
Robin and I have great confidence that the Ian Taylor Trekking Foundation—and those of us fortunate enough to have experienced these places with Ian and Laura—will continue finding meaningful ways to support the communities that have given so much to us.
Robin and I have long tried to provide as much support as possible for education, shelter, hunger, and healthcare where those basic needs are lacking in our own community in the U.S. I ignored these same needs abroad by fooling myself into believing that meeting them overseas was someone else’s responsibility.
Until you go see what’s out there, you will never really know where help is needed or whom you may meet who will change your life.
I’m blessed to have had the opportunity to see what’s out there—and to become a part of what’s out there.
A Note About Authorship
Everything you read is written entirely by me. The thoughts, words, stories, opinions, observations, expressions—and, for better or worse, the humor—are my own and are expressed in my own words.
I do use a digital editor only in a supporting role: to fact-check names, dates, places, and other details, and to provide light editing for grammar, punctuation, and spelling.
The process is mine. The experiences are mine. The ideas are mine. The words and voice are mine. Technology helps me check the facts and clean up the copy after it’s written.
Tony Furman.