Heading for a New Adventure in Pakistan
Together with my long-time friend and climbing partner Martin Sieberer, we set off for Pakistan at the end of August. We had planned to explore an unclimbed mountain in the remote Saltoro region and, if possible, to make its first ascent. This trip was going to be a little different, however: we were going to be accompanied by a four-person camera crew documenting our journey for a feature-length documentary. For the first time, we weren’t climbing as a small two-man team, but as part of a larger expedition – a new and unfamiliar experience for me.
Ever since Martin and I first held a picture of Chumik Kangri (6,754 meters) —we couldn’t stop thinking about it. Its elegant lines and remote setting had an almost magnetic pull from it to Martin and I. The image showed only the upper half of the wall; everything below it, especially the large glacier at its base, was hidden. To uncover what lay beneath the frame of that single photo, we had to see it for ourselves. But the challenge was immense: the area had been closed to expeditions since 1984.
Into the Contested Saltoro Region
The Saltoro Mountains lie along the tense border between Pakistan and India, two nuclear powers that have been in conflict for decades. Just weeks before our arrival, tensions had flared again. As we drove east from Skardu in several off-road vehicles, we passed numerous military checkpoints surrounded by heavy artillery.
For the first time in over 40 years, climbing permits had been issued for this region. We were lucky enough to have gotten one, and a Polish-Slovak team had received another. Initially. We didn’t know which peak they were aiming for, only that they had already arrived somewhere in the Saltoro area.
Our approach was slow and rugged. Several times, landslides blocked the road ahead, but with teamwork between the expedition members, drivers, and helpers, we finally reached what would be our base camp for the next few weeks – a cozy spot beside a stream at about 4,100 meters. We immediately felt at home.
Approaching Chumik Kangri
Early September brought a weather forecast that was far from perfect, but it did promise a week without precipitation - that was enough for us. We packed food and gear for several days and set off.
The approach to the mountain was complex and physically demanding. We followed winding moraines, crossed vast glaciers, and climbed a steep, icy gully (up to M6+). On the third day after leaving base camp, we finally reached the upper glacier. It was early afternoon on September 7th, 2025, when we saw the lower wall of Chumik Kangri for the first time.
Our initial plan was simple: start early the next morning, climb to the summit in a single push, and descend on the same day to avoid altitude sickness… but what we saw made us think twice. The unusually warm summer had destabilized the mountain. The lower section of the southwest ridge wasn’t solid rock, as we had hoped, but a fragile mix of gravel, weathered ice, and fine sand. Starting our climb in such conditions was out of the question, the realization was sobering.
Snow, Storm, and Retreat
We sat on our backpacks at the edge of a huge crevasse, studying the wall and discussing alternatives. The much steeper east ridge caught our attention – it looked more solid, though it was covered with cornices and steep snow. We began to consider it seriously when, out of nowhere, snow started to fall. Within minutes, visibility dropped, a thick fog crept across the glacier. We quickly pitched the tent and crawled inside as the snowfall intensified. It continued all night – so heavy at times that we considered descending in the dark to avoid being trapped. Avalanches roared around us every 20 minutes.
At first light, we made the only reasonable choice: to retreat. The sudden return of the monsoon had destroyed any hope of reaching the summit. Safety became our only goal. Partly climbing, partly abseiling, we navigated back through the storm and finally reached base camp five hours later – exhausted, soaked, but safe.
Reflections and Future Dreams
That evening, we gathered in the team tent over hot soup to discuss our next move… which the mountain had made for us. The unexpected weather and unstable conditions had literally “taken the wind out of our sails.” At first, I found it hard to accept that the expedition was over. The climber in me wanted to wait, to hope, but deep down, I knew that turning back was the right call. In the end, we decided together not to attempt another climb.
Now, with time to reflect, I feel at peace with that decision. We had ventured into an unexplored region, stood beneath a magnificent and mysterious mountain, and returned safely. Sometimes success in the mountains isn’t about reaching the summit, but about coming home with the desire to dream again. We left Pakistan with new ideas, new goals, and the hope of returning to Chumik Kangri someday, or one of its equally beautiful neighbors.
Postscript: Success for the Polish-Slovak Team
A few days after our return, we learned that the Polish-Slovak team had succeeded. Unlike us, the three mountaineers – Michael, Wadim, and Adam – decided to wait out the bad weather, and their patience was rewarded with the first ascent of Chumik Kangri. They chose a bold and intelligent line: a direct route up a striking rock pillar to the summit. I couldn’t be happier for them – they were great companions at base camp, and their success is truly inspiring. After two bivouacs on the wall, they reached the summit at 8 a.m. on September 15th, 2025. Congratulations on a beautiful and historic ascent!
