Kangchung Shar | 2017 E Ridge from S

A UK expedition to Kangchung Shar in 2017 via E Ridge from S, led by Alexander Kay. Summit reached on 5th December 2017. 2 members recorded.

Expedition Details

Field Value
ID 9673
Imported 2026-03-06 18:04:49.359634
Expedition ID KCHS17401
Peak ID KCHS
Year 2017
Season 4
Host Country 1
Route 1 E Ridge from S
Route 2 -
Route 3 -
Route 4 -
Nationality UK
Leaders Alexander Kay
Sponsor British Kangchung Shar Expedition 2017
Success 1 True
Success 2 False
Success 3 False
Success 4 False
Ascent 1 4th
Ascent 2 -
Ascent 3 -
Ascent 4 -
Claimed False
Disputed False
Countries -
Approach From Lobuche via Cho La pass
Basecamp Date -
Summit Date 2017-12-05
Summit Time -
Summit Days 0
Total Days 0
Termination Date -
Termination Reason 1
Termination Notes -
High Point (m) 6063
Traverse False
Ski False
Paraglide False
Camps 0
Fixed Rope (m) 0
Total Members 2
Summit Members 2
Member Deaths 0
Total Hired 0
Summit Hired 0
Hired Deaths 0
No Hired True
O2 Used False
O2 None True
O2 Climb False
O2 Descent False
O2 Sleep False
O2 Medical False
O2 Taken False
O2 Unknown False
Other Summits -
Campsites BC(5400m),Smt(05/12)
Route Notes A first ascent in the Himalayas Published on February 11, 2018 in LinkedIn After summitting Lobuche East I headed back to Above the Cloud Lodge. Sam, my favourite host of the trip, was surprised to see me back so soon. She even asked me if I had summitted the right mountain! I recuperated for the rest of the afternoon, passing in and out of sleep without a care in the World. Quickly enough I was residing to my cold bedroom for the night. Over the last five nights I had to’d and fro’d between a tent and teahouses, sleeping at various altitudes between 4900m & 5500m. I was looking forward to descending to Dzongla (4800m), where I hoped to grab even an extra degree of heat at night. I waved farewell to Sam and set off down the valley. The struggle to Dzongla was real. In a bid to save some cash, I would walk the distance carrying both of my bags. My rucksack weighed in at around 12kg, but my 130L climbing bag - full of ice axes, metalwork, high altitude boots, a 60m rope, etc. - probably sat at around 25-30kg. Tthe worst part about it was that there were no shoulder straps. I had left Lobuche with it on my shoulders using the standard carry-straps, but I soon heared the sound of material tearing as I bounded along the trail. I stopped and engineered some make-shift straps out a piece of tatt (old climbing rope). The rope was an off-cut from a ‘static’ abseiling rop and was around 9mm thick. This meant it had hardly any elasticity compared to a ‘dynamic’ climbing rope. As I walked along the rope cut into my shoulders painfully. I stopped on a number of occasions to try and make it more comfortable, each time falling backwards onto the bag and rolling away from it, trying as best as possible to do the same in reverse once I had altered the strap. It was to no avail. In foreign countries, whenever possible, it is always nice to get a nod of approval from a hardy local. Back in 2016, whilst working on Mount Kenya I had descended with my group back to base camp. We had summitted Point Lenana (4985m) that same morning and it had taken us around 6.5 hours to get from Shipton’s camp (4200m) back to base camp (3’300m). I saw the group off the next morning and with an objective of my own in mind shot back up to Shipton’s camp. This particular group was my 4th back-to-back team on the mountain and having now spent over 20 days at altitude, I was really well acclimatised. On the way, I swiftly caught up to a small team who were just beginning their trek and stopped to say hello. As well as finding it unusual to see somebody alone on the mountain, their guide was dumbstruck that a random, lone Westerner could move so quickly at the altitude. He obviously wasn’t aware that I may have already been acclimatised. Before I left him pondering as to how I was moving so fast, he jokingly called me a ‘White, African Mountain Goat’ and gave me a remarkable nod of approval. Of course, it was only because I was acclimatised, but the approval by the local had made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I giggled at the thought of him trying to tell his clients that they had to keep a ‘pole pole’ pace. I reached Shipton’s camp in three hours. A similar thing happened on my way to Dzongla, but on multiple occasions. It was very funny indeed. I’m not a very big guy - around 70kg and 5’11. I was roughly carrying half of my own weight on my back and the combination of the two bags totally dwarfed me, much to amusement of the Nepalese locals I encountered. If it wasn’t for the many comical and bewildered reactions, rounding each new corner into on-coming Sherpas, then my only feeling upon my arrival into Dzongla would have been for the physical one of thinking I had been hit by a bus. “Strong and crazy like Sherpa”, they said, as I passed them along the trail. I set one group of lads off into a fit of laughter as I sat down beside them, amusingly wiping my brow. They couldn’t believe their eyes - “Usually we carry the big bags!”. Encouraged, I strided on, certain they were laughing at me instead of with me, but I was happy to make their day. I already had the utmost respect for Sherpas by this stage, but after only 4 hours of staggering along I had a new level of respect for them altogether. They surely are the strongest members of the human race alive. Upon arrival in Dzongla I met back up with Stan. We hadn’t seen each other since our successful summits of Island Peak, but had kept in contact. Tim, Stan’s original climbing parter, had already left the Himalayas, his trip thwarted by frustrating bouts of sickness. Stan had been able to avoid the bugs and had been trying to decide what he wanted to do next while he spent some time recovering at the comfortable altitude of 3400m in Namche Bazaar. He was looking for one final challenge before leaving the Khumbu, as were I. Stan met me with a similar facial expression to the one I had. He had reached Dzongla in only 2 days having carried a heavy load himself. We were both interested in climbing one more 6000m peak and a number of peaks were on option to us, we just had to come to a decision. I eventually managed to convince Stan that we should attempt a peak to the est, known as Kangchung. I’d been given a tip-off from an experienced friend who'd mentioned us that Kangchung was thought to be unclimbed, both officially and unofficially. Peaks in Nepal above 6000m, and many above 5000m, require you to hold a permit before you attempt them. Some peaks, like Kangchung, are far off the beaten track, therefore many teams try to save money by risking climbing them unofficially – i.e., without a permit. This is not recommended, both in an economical light – you are not bringing money into the National Park by doing this – but also in a safety light, for were you to get into trouble, then help may not be so easily obtained (you can’t really let anyone know you’re going there…). Unofficial climbs never tend to make their way into the Himalayan Database, unless the climbers are foolish enough to try and submit it, knowing they have no proof of permit. Thus finding out whether Kangchung had even been climbed yet was proving difficult. We had a small window of time before the weather began to get worse and we decided to go for it. Annoyingly, soon after obtaining our permits, we found out that the summit had been climbed before, both officially and unofficially. A deeper dig in the Himalayan database also seemed to confirm it. But whilst searching the records we did work out one exciting thing. Kangchung's East ridge remained unclimbed. A first ascent on a Himalayan peak was definately worth pushing our bodies for one last time. The cost of the permit was also a rather convincing reason! After a few days of forced rest, Stan and I were ready to bag our final mountain of the trip. The guys at the Mountain Home in Dzongla had been good to us, feeding us hearty meals and even providing us with a surprise chocolate cake for Stan’s birthday. The real surprise came later on in the week however, when a $10 price-tag came up on our bill! You’ve gotta laugh. Up until that point we had been fine-dining mostly on a repetitive diet of Dal Bhat, the Nepalese dish of choice. Every night, in every new teahouse, a short while was spent pondering over a totally similar menu to the last place. I grew fond of certain things but Dal Bhat was and is the go-to choice for weary trekkers, perfect for replacing calories at the end of the day; A traditional meal from the Indian subcontinent, Dal Bhat consists of steamed rice and a cooked lentil soup. In most places it is also served with a side of curry and a poppadom. The best part about is that within the price you pay you are entitled to a free refill. However, unlike your coca-cola refill at Subway, usually after becoming full from the first, hefty portion, you are a little disinterested in the latter, no matter how good it tastes. The food in Nepal is generally really great. Be sure to look out for steamed momo’s and when you get the chance, try a portion from a local family in a mountain village, or a street-seller in Kathmandu, rather than a teahouse. I found them to be much better tasting and you’ll also get a fair bit more for your money. Getting to the base of Kangchung was a rather uninspiring journey. After crossing the Cho La pass, Stan and I broke from the trail and took a direct route towards the bottom of the mountain. I say the journey to Kangchung was uninspiring, not for the scenery, but for the quality of the rock we encountered around the base of the mountain. It was a wasteland of discarded, broken granite, fallen at the whey-side after years of tectonic movements, weathering and erosion. It did not inspire confidence. We had brought plenty of water, but still required to fill up our bottles for cooking. At one stage during the walk-in we passed by a muddy, sandy, frozen lake. We felt certain that it would still be undrinkable even after filtering and boiling it, and we were happy to have opted to carry a heavier load full of bladders containing fresh water. Camp was made at around 5400m, at the tongue of the Cho La Col glacier. Fresh water flowed from its mouth, but glacial water can never be too trustworthy. Sediments flow in it and it can make your stomach ache from the cold. We didn’t want to boil drinking water where possible, knowing we may need the gas for cooking. That night we sat and admired the view. Different peaks, different villages: A new scene for both of us. Stars once again began to fill the undisturbed sky. There’s no light pollution in the Himalayas, and so long as clouds don’t impede the view, most nights the Milky Way is lit up like a twinkling carpet at a film premier. No luxury hotels here, and forever may that remain. Why settle for 5 stars when you can have a million? 5 am. Coffee. Noodles. More coffee. Stan likes his coffee in the morning more than me. From camp last night the East ridge of Kangchung looked like a fairly simple affair. It was only 600m of climbing and we were well acclimatised. We’d stripped our kit down to the lightest, safest combination possible. Knowing we would be attempting to climb the peak during the day, we opted to get rid of the bulky, cold-weather, high altitude boots and climb in our now-holey approach shoes, intending on moving quickly over the easier terrain and giving ourselves time on anything that presented a little more difficulty. Little did we know that it was to prove a lot more exciting than the gentle un-roped amble we’d had in mind. I’m sure Stan at one stage had even mentioned being back in camp eating noodles and drinking coffee by midday. The walk across to the start of the ridge was arduous enough. Scree everywhere. Nothing was worn, no cairns for us to follow beyond the first little hump of rocks. We both picked what we felt was the most convenient line and met up at the base of the ridge. Initially we enjoyed blissful granite slab-climbing. We solo’d alongside each other in some fantastic positions, negotiating the ridge by the easiest route but always staying along its crest. A few knife-edged sections slowed us down at times, but careful movement across it made for a continually-fast pace. As we climbed higher however, we noticed that the quality of rock was becoming worse with every step. We soon found ourselves on knife-edged terrain with little to nothing in the way of a decent anchor to attach to. We had acknowledged some steeper terrain higher up the shoulder of the mountain may require the rope, but were convinced we could make it that far by scrambling alone. The rope had been deployed hours before we had wished it to be. We swung leads and scratched around desperately to secure each other to the mountain, but mostly we were slinging sharp, granite boulders of which were perilously perched, threatening to topple down at any moment. It felt safer at times to not be attached to anything. We rarely stopped, and only ever for a short while. The climb required our full attention and it was totally absorbing. We traversed unnavigable sections, down-climbing at times, all the while skidding on what felt like loose pebbles above a sheer precipices. On numerous occasions we stopped and shared a stare – not like the hilarious blank stare that I got from some of the locals at times – but a stare that spoke only few words, but had great meaning. “What on Earth are we doing here?”. But we were only ever as committed as until the decision to turn around, with the ability to return via the same route. Thus far, although at times we had encountered some fairly shoddy rock, we had always clocked a relatively-good anchor in which we could use to retreat back down. Finally we came to the base of the final steepening. Stan attached himself to another massive, yet loose granite block as I set off on the sharp end on what felt like one of the boldest leads of my life. I climbed around 10m of granite slab before I found anything in the way of a good gear placement. Even then I didn’t trust it. It neared vertical at times but fortunately the flapping rubber on my shoes held up and my smear did not fail me. All the while I was positioned on the centre of a sloping ridge which fell down around 1000m on both sides: A fall here was out of the question. I was climbing close to my limit and at 5900m I was really feeling it. After two or three tenuous moves I’d have to stop and regain my breath and compose myself. I was committed now. It’s never as easy as simply climbing back down. I carried on nervously until I topped out onto a grandstand of what were, unsurprisngly, loose blocks. Fantastic… I’d protected the ridge as best as I could for Stan, and although he is stronger and a technically-better that I, I prayed he would concentrate as much as I had done. A fall for him would undoubtedly leave him hanging in space. That’s if the rope remained intact. Together we negotiated the final tippy-top of the mountain. I say tippy-top because there wasn’t a single rock attached. At one stage Stan let off a yelp as he shifted a huge block from its perch and we watched in silence as it careered down noisily to the valley floor. I felt lucky to be stood above him and didn’t know whether to giggle like a frightened child or laugh hysterically like a maniac. Stan took the lead on the final 5m headwall. It had no gear so I was happy to let him have his turn! After belaying me up, we crawled our way over the last two small rises until we were stood on what we could only assume were the leftovers of a summit once taller. This time, unlike on Lobuche East where I felt little to no emotion, I couldn’t decide what to feel more strongly. Honesty would tell me fear was the overriding emotion. Fearful of how the hell we were going to get back down There was not a single, solid anchor that I would have used by choice to abseil off of – instead, merely a handful of loose rocks to choose from, some bigger than others. We let relief take over for a little while. We deserved that much at least. Happiness and feelings of fun could come as secondary emotions when we had reached the safety of the tent. We had been stupid and brave and foolish and adventurous, to continue on for as long as we did. At every iffy stage we had shared a discussion as to whether we should continue. At one stage we had come really close to sacking it off and heading back down for a brew (coffee for Stan). But we’d done it. And we were the first ever (and we recommend the last!). We’d made the right decisions to not kill ourselves, and it felt pretty damn special to be stood on top of what had turned out to be a real nail-biter of an ascent. This time I did shout and scream on the summit, and I hi-fived my climbing partner and gave him a pat on the back for sticking it out with me. This had, after all, been the first climb that Stan and I had ever shared. We’d met a few years previous but had never linked up until now…. Funny how things work out eh? Everything happen for a reason. We got down Ok. I wouldn’t be writing this if we hadn’t. We abseiled a total of 7 times (almost half the length of the route), down-climbed and skittered our way along wobbly, knife-edged terrain once more. We cursed and filled our pants (fortunately only metaphorically) more times than I wish to share, but we made it in the end. Back to our tent for a fairly reasonable 5 pm. There was no way we were heading back over the Cho La pass that evening, as much as we both wanted to. Both mentally and physically exhausted, we collapsed into the tent. Being constantly scared for the best part of 12 hours had been tiring. Stan took charge of the cooking duties that night and I was very grateful. I should have done it really, especially after it was me that convinced him to take on such an audacious ‘pile of rocks’ that Kangchung is. But now, with over three weeks at altitude under my belt, and three 6000m peaks summitted within that time, and very little rest due to my over-zealous nature, my body had good reason to be tired. It was time for me to bid farewell to the Khumbu. I at least wanted to descend to a more comfortable altitude to get some recovery and, with my flight home in 9 days, it seemed logical to head down and stay down. There would be time enough at least, for one final trip to the Namche Bakery on the way through.
Accidents -
Achievement -
Agency Himalayan Guides
Commercial Route False
Standard Route False
Primary Route False
Primary Member False
Primary Reference False
Primary ID -
Checksum 2463755
Year 2017
Summit Success True
O2 Summary None
Route (lowercase) e ridge from s

Members

2 recorded members.

Name Sex Year of Birth Citizenship Status Residence Occupation
Alexander Roman Kay M 1992 UK Leader Gogarth, Conwy, Wales - Details Other expeditions
Stanley Ka Kit Ng M 1991 UK Climber Coventry, West Midlands, England - Details Other expeditions

References

1 recorded references.

Expedition ID Journal Author Title Publisher Citation Yak 94
KCHS17401 - - https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/first-ascent-himalayas-alexander-kay/ - - -