Tengkangpoche – North Pillar

A mountain stream with clear water and a sandy bottom reflects the colors of the beginning of fall in the middle of a foggy landscape. The mountains are hidden, so the orange-reddish heather takes all the attention. Footprints press into the sand next to the holes left by the yak's hooves as we march past the stone fence built decades ago. The humidity is beading on the shoulders, but when a small gust of wind spins sand dust into the air, the hope of the clouds parting wakes up. The big granite blocks at the bottom of the valley tell their own story. They couldn't have fallen from the sky.

Above our heads the clouds are bursting. Movement stops like breathing. The peak of a rock pillar, resembling a raven's pitch-black beak, peeks out from the upper air, which seems to bend over the valley, ready to pick its prey, like berries. We crane our necks and stare at the sight and start laughing. 

We laugh until the clouds cover everything. The valley is once again buried in a dark haze. Uncertainty and fear take over minds.

Pillar

The North Pillar of Tengkangpoche (6487m) has been attempted, but largely overlooked, by the world's top climbers over the past twenty years. Ines Papert, Will Gadd and Nick Bullock are examples of climbers who have admired the pillar without stepping on it. Mark Twightalso stated: "I recall Dreams about it after spending a day there watching, wondering, trying to imagine...".

Imagination is required from the entrepreneurs of the pillar, because the jöti towering above the village of Thengpo (4350m) is a practically impenetrable big wall. The first 700 meters offer smooth mixed climbing, but after that there is a 600-meter, steep rock wall in front of you. The end is crowned by a razor-sharp snow ridge, which is enough for half a kilometer. 

A few teams got a little on the pole in the 5000m in the early 2000s, but the best attempt was seen in 2006, when the Canadians Matt Maddaloni and John Furneaux according to their own words, they reached the height of 5700 meters after 13 days of climbing. They had seven fixie ropes and a tent, but noted that the next attempt would require faster tactics and a portaledge. The rope lengths had been the most difficult the men had ever climbed with their WI6, M8, 6c and A4 grades. 

When Quentin suggested the pillar as a target to replace the aborted Kashmir plans, I didn't hesitate for long. For the record, I stated that I'm not a fan of techno fiestas, or even a very experienced techno climber, but let's go, there has to be ice there. At that point I hadn't googled the history of the pillar very deeply, and that's fine. 

The first steps

After arriving at the mud-lined tea house of Thengpo on October 8, we hadn't seen more than a small taste of our destination. Fortunately, the morning revealed the mountains in all their splendor, wrapped in a glistening cloak of new snow. 

For the next couple of days, we spied the pillar meter by meter. We sketched out a possible line, thought about backup options, and spent a lot of time filing grams. It seemed that the climbing might end already in the early stages. There was no guarantee that we would make it even a meter up the route. The uncertainty was palpable. Pilari would be the most demanding climb of their climbing careers for both of them by throwing. Is the white substance on the stone snow or ice? Is it possible to descend from the upper ridge if necessary? The number of unsolved questions was staggering.  

We should climb fast, but still considering that the team that did the high point in 2006 took 13 days to reach 5700 meters. The equipment had to be reduced to a minimum. Only with a team totally dedicated to the route would it be possible to climb the pillar in alpine style. 

What was included: only one 9mm single rope, 6mm Rad Line, an assortment of pitons, a double rack of cams, one set of wedges, 8 ice screws, a set of extensions, GriGri, a pair of climbing handles, a techno ladder, an ultralight tent, a kettle, relatively warm sleeping bags, a short inflatable Thermarest, a cut cellular plastic base for another , gas for 9 days and food for a week. 

I had never stood so still looking at the next day's destination when I was under the North Pillar of Tengkangpoche. Would we like this? There is no actual risk of snow or rockslides on the wall, but climbing would be difficult. The biggest threat would be our own movement, at least up to the snow ridge. After that, the objective risks would increase as climbing becomes easier.

I didn't sleep a wink before leaving early in the morning.

Day 1. (11.10)

From Thengpo, we walked under the wall for a couple of hours in the morning twilight, with the bright moonlight illuminating the moraine quarry. I had just read the biography of Tomaz Humar, in which the man who was one of the top Slovenian alpinists stated that he always timed his big Himalayan ascents during the full moon. I glanced at the sky. The moon was almost full.

At about 4900 meters we packed up and prepared to sprint for five minutes under the serak to catch the ramp line that should lead us to the wall. This excellent section had been missed by the Americans who had come to climb the nearby Tengi Ragi Tau Alan Rousseau and Tino Villanueva at his agility gig. As far as I understand, the teams that tried the pillar before had climbed a straight line up as seen from Thengpo, but now we were able to simul-solo several hundreds of meters really quickly through the right route. 

Quentin's pack was pretty messed up, which is why I opened the trail for the first half of the day. The climbing was easier than expected, but there was enough snow. However, a few really entertaining sections of peat mixture kept the mood fresh. 

As we approached the planned bivouac, Quentin's strength had returned enough that the man wedged himself at the top for the rest of the day. It was so fast to climb the easy ice and snowfields that we decided to continue to the snow ridge up to 5400 meters to camp. Our pace had exceeded all expectations. What a start!

Day 2. (12.10)

We woke up to the day in peace, because the goal was to climb only 150 meters below the main wall. We dried our clothes and enjoyed ourselves. At that moment, climbing the Himalayas seemed like quite a leisurely activity. It also lightened my mind to know that we would be able to climb down long sections if needed. 

We climbed thin, but relatively easy ice ramps in the scorching sun, until the heat-producing mollusk disappeared behind the pillar. The terrain also became more challenging and the climbing was confusingly reminiscent of the north wall of Grandes Jorrases. We had to climb the last rope length of the day, almost 90 meters long, as a simul. Looking at Quentin's lead, I wasn't sure if I would be able to do the same with a heavy backpack on my back, but now, driven by necessity, I tapped one after the other more miserable peckers out of the thin cracks of the screen while making Elvis-like movements with my legs. This was a clear reminder of how quickly the situation changes from easy to very serious and requires concentration.

We set up our second camp below the main wall at 5550 meters. Masses of cloud slowly drifted into the valley below, obscuring the yak enclosures of Thengpo from view. We were completely in our own bubble - the highest mountains in the world with us. Everest, Lhotse, Makalu, Ama Dablam—all those scenes of heroic tales and tragedies rose before us in silence. I had hoped for so long to get on the same playing fields, and now I was finally here. 

Quentin fixed the rope 30 meters up the main wall the night before, to speed up the morning chores. 

 

Day 3. (13.10)

There would be 300 meters of steep rock wall to the next snow shelf. It would have to be climbed in a day as we didn't have a portaledge with us. The fastest tactic would be for Quentin, as a more experienced technowolf, to put on his climbing shoes, carry either both or a heavier backpack, and I would follow as fast as possible. Although we had climbed under the main wall freely, the style would now change to allow everything. What would be the fastest way to pull yourself up. 

And so began the journey to the vertical world. Ahead came one rope length that was more difficult than the other, with no rest. Free-climbing on quite a lot of pixis, techno from the smallest possible peckers in an icy crevasse and finally mixtapes on thin ice. I confirmed with mixed feelings of fear and Quentin probably climbed with the same feelings.

A single crack line led up the main wall, which we followed. Maddalon and Furneaux's last or first landing anchor came already at 5600 meters, and not at 5700 as they claim. It could be that we just had better GPS systems in use than in 2006. 

As the exposure increased, the bottom of the stomach twitched and the mind played tricks. We were hanging on a single rope far above the valley. I'm not afraid of high places, but realizing the vulnerability of our location made me sick. 

The cracks led to the ice and Q changed his slippers to alpine boots and irons. I dodged the ice blocks as best I could, because almost all the ice had to be chipped away from the cracks, so that progress would somehow be safe. 

At the seventh rope length, the spindrift started. Quentin had just made a high tension traverse to the adjacent crack and had raised his headlamp as the evening darkened. We were at least 120 meters away from the snow shelf, and the climbing didn't seem to be getting any easier. 

Spini squirmed and plunged into every possible nook and cranny. With my legs numb from the dangling poles, I cursed the situation to the lowest hell. What fool pays for this fun? 

When I finally got to Quentin's place, the man suggested bivi. I looked at the hole in front of me for a moment before agreeing to the suggestion. The Canadian had done his part at the sharp end of the rope. Next, it would be my turn to take the lead, and to be honest, diving into the dark night was not appealing.

We managed to dig a hole where two guys could just sit next to each other while the spin plunged over the small roof protecting our hole. We pulled up the tent and boiled a few liters of water before midnight. 

The wind blew the snow so much that the tent had to be pulled over the head for protection. The plastic bag effect did not help sleeping, because as our breath condenses on the tent fabric, it wets our sleeping bag pulled over our knees. Sometimes you just had to stick your head out into the spin pool when you needed oxygen. 

Day 4 (14.10)

As the sunlight filtered through the dust of snow, we began to move our limbs stiffened by the trippy night. I hadn't slept more than a few ten minutes for the last four nights. Tiredness was already weighing on my body as I shoved a chocolate bar into my face, at the same time snorting ice screws into the harness for the first lead of the day. Quentin accidentally slipped our sunscreen bottle on the downhill side, so in the future the Buffs would stay on the face.

Now the ice was already able to withstand the climber, but at its narrowest point the bank was only 15-20 cm wide, forcing the movements to be very controlled. You had to choose between a possible crack under the ice or a sure but fragile ice. I chose ice. It was amazing to be able to lead quality climbing at an altitude of almost six kilometers, without a backpack, after the day of jumaring. I thought that technical climbing at those altitudes would be extremely difficult, but yes jumarating takes the win.

On top of the main wall, we found a snowy ridge again, where we spent several hours hammering a tent-sized shelf of permafrost. We had exceeded ourselves and our expectations by topping the main wall, and climbing should now be much easier. We should have a rest day.

Day 5 (15.10)

Snowflakes fell on the eyes from the foggy roof of the tent. The sleeping bags started to get wet, but there was no chance of drying on the north wall, except now on the morning of the day of rest, when the sun hit the pillar for a few moments. 

We refueled with a photo session during the day and thought about tactics for the following days. We would fix the rope 50 meters up in the afternoon so that we could reach the top ridge the next day. After that, we would summit and head in the direction of the east ridge. 

The plan sounded possible, but Quentin's afternoon lead threw the first straw in the cart. The performance was perhaps the most impressive I've seen in my climbing career. Throw techno into a terrain that could no longer be climbed or descended. There was only one way and that was up. Fortunately, the hacksaw found a place from which it could reach the next whip spot. Tension Traverse and more delicate mixta. 

After returning to the tent, motivation began to waver as darkness fell. Tomorrow there would be more snow-covered slabs that might be climbable. Perhaps.

Day 6 (16.10)

We hung onto the end of the fixed rope in silence. The cold wind hit the back of my neck and sent shivers down my body. 

Quentin disappeared around the corner to check the next section, but soon returned to the stand. There were smooth slabs in front, which you couldn't get up without bolts. No cracks, no weaknesses. Not even if you looked left or right. You wouldn't be able to climb the pillar without ice, at least from this point. Far to the left was a ramp-like weakness, but that too was deadlocked. Maybe this wall is not meant to be climbed?

The decision to pack came without emotion, even though during the last six days we had already started preparing for the idea that this might even be possible.

The task of descending from a height of 5930 meters began with pitons, icy blocks and often only one wedge. Once, when pulling, our climbing rope got behind the flake and we were about to have to descend the rest with a 6mm rope, but luckily we were lucky this time. 

We were able to do 60-meter rappels almost all the time, which made the descent faster. In half a day, we were at the ridge, packing the climbing sleds into the backpack and ready to ride the good hour's journey back to Thengpo village by the light of headlamps.

Phurba and Tim flickered lights in the foggy evening, guiding us towards the inn and its landlady prepared by Dhal Bat.

As the steaming rice and dhal soup mixed together effortlessly in the dim, rather cramped dining room, thoughts rushed through the restless brain. Just a few hours earlier we had been in the middle of a big alpine wall, fighting with uncertainty, fatigue and cold, far from the time pressure, money problems and gloom of the normal world. Alpinism had once again brought a glimpse of the freedom that many hunt like a unicorn, but also reminded me how the ordinary is beautiful and as attainable as dancing on mountain walls. 

P.S.

Now, a month later, when thinking about and remembering our company, we have to be proud even though we didn't reach the top. However, we made a new high point on the pillar, which definitely belongs to the last largest lines in Nepal, if not even in the world, that have not yet been successfully climbed. The legend of Pilar is growing company by company, and I'm pretty sure that even now more teams are planning a trip to that Khumbu gem. Including Quentin. 

If we talk seriously about the beauty and aesthetics of the lines, the north pillar of Tengkangpoche goes right to the top of the world. I wasn't super convinced of its beauty before the trip, but on the spot my mind changed immediately. The dark granite tower with a shark fin snow crest is full of pure alpinism magic! I don't know if I'll ever even attempt an ascent of anything as impressive again, but I still feel that I gave the line everything I had to give, and going back on it wouldn't change a thing. Maybe someone will climb it one day or not. Not everything is meant to be climbed and the best part is the haze of ignorance that hovers over these lines. 

When you dive into that mist once, you can be sure that you will want to draw it into your lungs again and again.