“There is a dead Japanese guy at the top, they tell me,” my friend John told me when we arrived at the sacred village of Muktinath in October 1982. “That is why I will turn around here and go back the same way we came. I am not here to prove anything.”

It was freezing cold. We were sitting outside our cheap lodge with a spectacular view over the Annapurna Massif. The sun was going down and in minutes we would return inside for a cheap meal of pancakes with honey in front of a warm kitchen woodstove.

I was both motivated and nervous because I had dreamt about crossing the Thorong La Pass at 5,416 meters above sea level for a month. I had come to Asia to study Buddhism with the idea of becoming a monk, but ended up meeting a lot of travellers. I ended up wanting to become an adventurer instead. I was 20 years old and throughout the hike, I had been reading Maurice Herzog’s classic thriller of the first ascent of Annapurna and it overwhelmed me. It made me dream about what I wanted to do with my life. So instead of a monastery, I took a 30-hour bus ride from Delhi to Kathmandu and another 12-hour bus ride from there to the frontier town of Besi Sahar, where the 25-day Annapurna Circuit Trek started.

I left in the pitch darkness early in the morning by myself. These were the days when there were very few hikers and travellers in Nepal and one followed unmarked donkey trails to find one’s way. I had a handwritten map on a piece of paper and had been told to look out for that dead Japanese guy and keep to the left. I remember it was a steep climb; big dogs were barking loudly and threatening to attack. Muktinath was at 3,800 meters and it must have taken me 4–5 hours of steep climbing to get up onto the pass. I remember it was freezing cold; I walked in jeans, sneakers, and my mom’s hand-knitted sweater. The views were mesmerizing. I had to stop, often, just to take them in. And I am sure the altitude affected me too! The Kali Gandaki Gorge is the deepest on earth, and the views… they enchanted me.

For some unknown reason, I didn’t do it the way one should—from Jomsom, coming up to the pass from the other side, then going down to Muktinath. I took a very steep unknown trail which went directly up to the pass, lost the trail somewhere, and I never found the dead Japanese guy in his sleeping bag. Honestly, I had no idea where I was. I did not have any experience of hiking or being in the wilderness at all. I still decided to follow a huge, steep river called the Kali Gandaki because I thought that would lead me to Kagbeni, a village on the other side. It did. Eventually.

The mountainsides of the river were so steep that I couldn’t follow them for very long, but was forced to jump from rocks in the river, which got bigger and bigger the farther down I went. It was dangerous. I had no idea how long it would take; the wind pelted me and since my kit was crap, it was hard. Not to be recommended. Then it was getting dark. That meant I had been out over 12 hours. Normal trekking time from Muktinath to Kagbeni, the right way, is six hours. Of course, I had no food or water left. I had only taken oranges and biscuits to get me over.

Then, at last, I saw lights on the horizon. The happiness and relief I felt has to be experienced, and is one reason why I am still at it. The joy when I stepped into the ancient village of Kagbeni, with its narrow alleys and imposing Gompa, felt like discovering a hidden kingdom.

This is the reason I want to climb Mount Everest. It might not happen; age and economics might be obstacles. But the dream of the big mountains has been there since I had a bout of food poisoning in Kagbeni. Not from crossing Thorong La, but because of the food… and I have obviously learned a bit since then. For that reason, I am climbing peak after peak until I feel ready for the big one. It is all about realizing a dream.

During this one-year journey, I heard about an Irish guy who had cycled from Ireland to Nepal, which inspired me and gave me the idea to become the first human to cycle from Chile to Alaska on the Pan American Highway. I was not the first; Ian Hibell was, and he and Dervla Murphy, the Irish writer, were most likely that Irish “guy”. Stories in those days traveled and went unchecked.

Everest is simply the shape my first awe took.

Historical note: the Thorong La incident (multiple accounts from the era)

The trekker: Hideo Yamada, 34, Japanese.
The location: Thorong La Pass (5,416 m / 17,769 ft), the highest point on the Annapurna Circuit—high, exposed, and very cold.
The event: Yamada showed severe altitude illness that progressed to High-Altitude Cerebral Edema (HACE)—brain swelling from fluid leakage.
Delirium & undressing: As HACE advanced, he became delirious, irrational, and combative. He undressed at the pass. Companions and guides struggled to get him into a sleeping bag and attempted a rescue.
Outcome: He died of hypothermia/exposure at the pass. HACE plus extreme cold was fatal.