Manaslu Circuit Trek - Day 6: Manaslu Base Camp

I Continue From Here: Manaslu Circuit Trek - Day 5: Shyala to Samagaun

Day 6: Acclimatisation Day (Manaslu Base Camp (4800m/15750ft) -  15km /8-9H

12 May 2026

When I opened the curtains that morning, I was greeted by a beautiful sight. Clouds were slowly parting to reveal the mountains towering above the village of Samagaun. It looked as though it was going to be a wonderful day. Despite a lingering sense of nervousness about the trek ahead, I got ready and joined Flavie, Ward, and Gilou at the breakfast table by 6:00 AM.

By 7:00 AM, we set out on our acclimatisation hike to Manaslu Base Camp. The trail first wound through a forest before climbing steeply uphill. The views were spectacular from the very beginning.

Along the way, we spotted a marmot perched on the edge of a small hill, gazing out over the valley below. We spent nearly an hour observing and photographing it from every possible angle, yet it barely moved. Lying flat on its belly, it would occasionally raise its head at a distant sound before settling back into the same relaxed position.

As we gained altitude, Birendra Lake came into view beneath us. Its turquoise glacial waters looked absolutely stunning from above.

We reached a midway point where we stopped for a short break. I ate an apple I had been carrying and refilled my water bottle at a small waterfall nearby. After adding water-purification tablets and waiting about ten minutes, the water became safe to drink.

Beyond this point, the trail was completely covered in snow, forcing us to put on our microspikes. Very few people attempted the hike that day; most had decided to skip it because of the weather. Even among those who started, several turned back midway. Only a handful of groups eventually made it to the base camp.

We met Shawn here. I had first met him in Shyala while watching the sunrise. He was from Australia and was trekking with another hiker and their guide. The other trekker had decided not to continue and had already turned back. Shawn and his guide had climbed a little higher but were also considering retreating because the ascent was difficult without microspikes. Shawn was furious with his guide, who had advised him not to carry them, so he had left them behind at the guesthouse.

The guide was a young Nepali boy, probably inexperienced, but he was kind and seemed to enjoy being around our group. Seeing us continue gave Shawn and his guide renewed confidence, and they decided to join us. Somehow, with more people moving together, the climb suddenly felt far more achievable. KP led the way. He broke trail through the snow while the rest of us followed in his footsteps.

Without a doubt, this was the toughest trek I have ever done. So many things could have gone wrong that day. The snow had erased the trail completely, forcing us to carve our own route uphill. At times the climb was brutally steep. It was also the highest altitude at which I had ever trekked, and the thin air made every step exhausting. Visibility was poor, and we often found ourselves traversing narrow ridges where a single slip could have sent us tumbling down toward Samagaun.

On the steeper sections, continuing became extremely difficult. Far ahead, I could see the blue cover of Flavie's backpack. One step at a time, I pushed myself upward. White snow surrounded me in every direction, while mist concealed everything above and below. Behind me was Gilou. He stayed close throughout the ascent, constantly encouraging me and making sure we reached the base camp safely. Knowing he was there eased my mind. At least in an emergency, I would not be alone.

I don't think words can fully capture either the difficulty of that climb or the overwhelming joy of finally reaching the destination. What I can say with certainty is that without Gilou, the ascent would have been far more difficult. At the top, everyone celebrated. I hugged Gilou and thanked him for being there.

Later, Ward told me that he had been wondering whether I would make it. KP, on the other hand, had been completely confident. Throughout the trek, he often complimented my walking style. He liked the fact that my pace rarely changed, that I took fewer breaks, and that I simply kept moving.

"You are doing it the right way," he would say. "They are simply hurrying."

When Ward told me of his doubts, I replied with a smile:

"I am slow, but I never give up."

After all, challenges are exactly what I seek as an adventurer. The joy of proving myself wrong and accomplishing something I have never done before is what keeps me moving, what keeps me alive in this otherwise absurd life.

At the base camp, we took a few photographs. I could barely remove my sunglasses because the sunlight reflecting off the snow was blinding. 

Unfortunately, the entire area was shrouded in thick cloud, and Mt. Manaslu remained hidden from view. Yet it was one of the most satisfying experiences of my life. The satisfaction came not from the view, but from the achievement itself. Reaching a place I had once doubted I could reach filled me with a deep sense of accomplishment.

At one point, Shawn decided to relieve himself right next to the signboard that read "Respect Manaslu." I read the sign aloud while his guide repeated, "Always respect Manaslu." One should not assume that all Caucasians possess impeccable civic sense or impeccable manners. He could easily have walked a little farther away from the group, but that particular presence of mind seemed to fail him.

For lunch at the base camp, we had chapatis with peanut butter before beginning our descent.

During the descent, KP stayed close to me. He walked a few steps ahead, creating a path through the snow. I carefully placed my feet into his footprints.

Most people assume descents are easy. While it is true that you can move faster downhill, this is also where most injuries occur. Your knees and toes remain under constant strain, and a single misplaced step can twist an ankle. Descending requires just as much caution and concentration as climbing. My microspikes and trekking poles helped tremendously that day.

At two places, I slid down sections of fresh snow. Glissading can be risky because it is easy to accelerate unexpectedly. Thankfully, KP was waiting below each time and managed to stop me before I gained too much speed.

Around 4:00 PM, when we returned to the spot where we had first seen the marmot, we were astonished to find it still there—in exactly the same position and in exactly the same pose. The marmot was truly in a state of fjaka. What a peaceful life.

Fjaka is a Croatian concept from the Dalmatian coast that roughly translates to "the sweetness of doing nothing." It is not laziness, but a state of effortless contentment—a feeling of having nowhere to be, nothing to achieve, and being completely at peace with the present moment. I would love to experience an endless fjaka like that marmot.

We also spotted another marmot farther down the slope. I assumed it was the female partner of the one sitting above.

Nearby, we saw a Himalayan pika. Often called a "mouse-hare," it is actually a small high-altitude relative of the rabbit. These adorable little creatures inhabit the rocky alpine slopes and boulder fields of the Himalayas. The pika emerged from its burrow to nibble on grass. I wondered why watching the pika nibble on the grass made me so happy. 

We reached our guesthouse in Samagaun around 5:00 PM. After freshening up, we gathered in the dining hall for dinner.

We told Antonio about our adventure and listened to how he had spent his day. He had explored the village, bought gifts for friends, met a few fellow Italians trekking the same route, and even managed to do his laundry.

"It is, after all, a f***ing vacation," he said.

When he mentioned buying rings and necklaces for some of his friends, all of us found it slightly unusual. In our minds, jewellery is generally something one gifts to a romantic partner rather than a friend. Antonio insisted that it was perfectly normal in Italy. It seemed to be one of those small cultural differences that make travel interesting. All in all, he had enjoyed a wonderfully relaxed day.

By contrast, we had nearly died. That evening, however, I noticed something different about the four of us who had made the climb. Something profound had changed. The experience had not only altered our outlooks but had also bonded us in a unique way. I think that is what happens when people share an adventure, endure hardship together, or live through a common life-changing experience. It creates connections that ordinary circumstances rarely can. Once again, I thanked Gilou for being there during the ascent.

This trek to Manaslu Base Camp transformed me in a profound way. Until then, I had carried a quiet anxiety throughout the journey, largely because of the altitude. The Larke pass is nearly 2,000 feet higher than anything I have ever attempted before. But after completing this climb, something shifted inside me. I no longer feared the freezing night that awaited us at Dharamsala. I no longer feared the altitude, the steep descent from Larke Pass, or any of the challenges that still lay ahead. The unknown had finally been confronted. It had become known. And with that, the fear simply disappeared.

CONTINUED HERE: Manaslu Circuit Trek - Day 7: Samagaun to Samdo