Few places capture the attention of mountain lovers more than the highest range in the world: the section of the Himalayas nestled deep in Nepal’s Khumbu region. Home to 20 peaks exceeding 7,000 meters, including Chomolungma (Mount Everest), this area is truly the mecca for mountaineers.

In December of 2016, I was 19 and despite having had some previous high mountain adventures under my belt, my ego outpaced my experience. A winter break appeared between two semesters of my university studies, and the allure of Nepal's peaks called out to me. I knew very little about Nepal—certainly not enough to comprehend what winter would be like there—but I sought a challenge and was up for a surprise.

I arrived in mid-December to the hectic chaos of Kathmandu. This was my first time experiencing this level of disorder in a city. My first challenge lay ahead: the small plane operating between Kathmandu and Lukla—the gateway to Sagarmatha National Park—was grounded due to bad weather in the valley. When the man at the ticket counter informed me that it might be a week before the next available flight, my startled reaction made him laugh. "One week?" Clearly, I was not prepared for what I had gotten myself into. The realization that I had arrived in winter, and was headed into one of the highest mountain ranges in the world, began to dawn on me.

Resigned to the whims of the weather, I retreated back into Kathmandu' maze of streets to wait it out. During my morning walks around the city, I stumbled upon a small school and decided to poke my head in one day. My appearance fascinated the entire school, teachers included, and my visits soon became a regular occurrence. Each day, I called the airport before heading to the school to play with the kids, assist with activities, or simply give high-fives.

A week later, a weather window finally opened, and I boarded a small, 6-seater plane loaded with lumber and building supplies, along with just one other passenger. The plane lifted above the haze, granting me my first real view of the towering giants ahead. Entering the Khumbu valley, the plane barely floated over a peak before the wings lost air and we dropped for a few seconds. The plane landed on a small runway seconds later, just in time for me to catch my breath.(Lukla is often described as "the most dangerous airport in the world".)

Though still more than a week of walking away from Chomolungma, standing in the small town of Lukla - a logistical entry point to all of Sagarmartha - gives an impressive preview of what is ahead. The thinness of the air, already at 2,860 meters (9,383 ft), stuck me when stepping out of the plane. With a naive eagerness and focus, I hurled my backpack over my shoulders and headed down the thin, winding path leading out of the town and up the valley.

My over-eager self made quick progress, climbing increasingly narrow trails to reach the winter remnants of Everest Base Camp in just a few days. Along the way, the signs of the off-season were everywhere: Many teahouses—small guest accommodations that usually provide food and beds—were boarded up, and snow began to accumulate on the trail. On New Year's Day, sitting alone at Everest Base Camp, I was awestruck by the harrowing peaks towering overhead.

Afterward, I retreated to Gorek Shep, the nearest settlement to Base Camp, to rest. Almost completely abandoned at this point, I found the one open teahouse and moved into a small room. I was the only guest, and aside from the man and his family maintaining the house, we were alone. A steadily increasingly pain in my knee had made descending difficult, and I figured that this would be a good place to rest. Then, one storm after another hit the area, and the white-out conditions made descending further impossible. Eventually, between storms, I stumbled down to a lower town, and my short wait turned into weeks.

The nights, the wind chilled the air outside my leaky room to -30C. The sun rose late in morning, providing a small glimmer of hope (and warmth) for a few hours before setting below the towering nearby peaks before 4:00pm again. It was cold.

Finally, I hobbled back into Lukla, my stomach yearning for something other than a yak-meat and rice diet, and my knee now suffering from a torn meniscus. Although I didn't take as many photos as I had initially planned, I captured what I could, seizing the essence of a journey that tested my limits and expanded my horizons.

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