Climbing the Seven Summits: A Long Road, Not a Trophy List

The Seven Summits are defined as the highest point on each of Earth’s continents. On paper, it sounds neat. Almost corporate. Seven mountains, seven ticks. In reality, the Seven Summits are less a checklist and more a long negotiation with time, patience, judgment, and humility.

The idea was first formalised by Richard Bass, who completed his version of the Seven Summits in 1985. After reading Bass’s account, the challenge became deeply appealing to me; not simply as a mountaineering objective, but as a framework for exploring the world by choosing the harder, slower off the beat track roads which was engrained into my concessions after my first international cycling trip around Vietnam and Cambodia back in 2014.

The Two (and a Half) Seven Summits Lists

There has always been debate over what actually constitutes the Seven Summits.

The Bass List (the original)

• Asia: Mount Everest — 8,849 m / 29,032 ft

• South America: Aconcagua — 6,961 m / 22,838 ft

• North America: Denali — 6,190 m / 20,310 ft

• Africa: Mount Kilimanjaro — 5,895 m / 19,341 ft

• Europe: Mount Elbrus — 5,642 m / 18,510 ft

• Antarctica: Mount Vinson — 4,892 m / 16,050 ft

• Oceania: Mount Kosciuszko — 2,228 m / 7,310 ft

  
  

Later, Reinhold Messner proposed replacing Mount Kosciuszko with Carstensz Pyramid (Puncak Jaya) in Papua, arguing it better represents the true tectonic high point of Oceania. There has also been long-standing debate between Mount Elbrus and Mont Blanc for Europe. For me, the appeal has always come back to Bass’s original framing that includes Kosciuszko because it reflects a particular era of mountaineering intent as a novice. That said, I’ve never been interested in defending one list over another. My personal solution is simple: Climb them all! If the mountains are going to demand years of your life, you may as well remove the arguments entirely.

World Atlas Seven Summit comparison

When I first decided to pursue this goal, I knew from the very beginning I didn’t want Everest to be my first training ground in teaching the basics on learning how to use crampons for the first. I wanted the journey to matter just as much as the summit, built on years of learning skills, developing technical competence, understanding winter survival, and adapting to harsh and unpredictable conditions. I didn’t want judgment or self-reliance to be outsourced entirely to guides.

Mountaineering, to me, is not about VIP access to summits. It is about becoming competent enough to make the correct judgment calls, learning to recognise and dismiss summit fever, and setting ego aside when turning around is the right decision. The summit is optional. The mountain will always be there.

What matters is staying calm in unfavourable conditions, trusting the process, and having the faith to approach a daunting objective one step at a time. It is not only a physical pursuit, but a mental and spiritual journey, shaped by patience, humility, and the willingness to listen when the mountain says no.

Summit One: Mount Kilimanjaro — Learning Altitude the Hard Way

01 February 2019 |5,895 m / 19,341 ft | Tanzania

My first true Seven Summits mountain was Mount Kilimanjaro, after an earlier introduction to altitude on Mount Fuji. It was also my first real taste of solo international travel.

Kilimanjaro must be climbed with a guide and is regulated by the National Park to ensure safety of the climbers and environment. When I embarked on this expedition, I was recently fresh to full-time work and juggling part-time study at university, these constraints shaped everything: cost, gear choices, route selection, and time on the mountain.

I ruled out the Marangu Route (the “Coca-Cola Route”), typically completed in 5 days, due to its rapid altitude gain and low summit success rates. Instead, I chose the Machame Route, a 7-day itinerary offering better acclimatisation through the classic “climb high, sleep low” profile and a slightly reduced duration and costs in comparison to the Lemosho Route.

Key Kilimanjaro Facts

• Highest point: Uhuru Peak — 5,895 m / 19,341 ft

• Route chosen: Machame Route

• Typical itinerary: 5 days up, 2 days down

• Acclimatisation high point before summit: ~4,600 m / 15,100 ft

  
  

The cultural side of Kilimanjaro left a lasting impression on me. The porters constantly carrying 20+ kg loads at altitude would arrive in camp ahead of us, singing and dancing, with tents already pitched and food prepared. It was humbling and without them, I would not have stood on that summit.

Altitude Doesn’t Care How Fit You Are

Kilimanjaro taught me my first real lesson in altitude physiology.

No matter how fit you are, altitude will always win if you rush it. Acute Mountain Sickness is indifferent to ego, and conditions like High-Alitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE) or High-Altiude Cerebral Edema (HACE) are not negotiable.

The local Swahili phrase “pole pole” translates to "slowly slowly", sounds almost laughable until you realise it’s the difference between summiting and being evacuated. Summit night was brutally cold, far colder than I expected in January. My hands were close to frost-numb, struggling to open a frozen chocolate bar at Uhuru Peak. Gear choices mattered. Some items failed. Others saved me. Kilimanjaro may be regarded as just a trek rather than a technical climb, but as a first altitude classroom, it is exceptional.

Summit Two: Mount Kosciuszko — Failure Before Success

31 December 2020 | 2,228 m / 7,310 ft | Australia

Living in Australia, Mount Kosciuszko should have been easy. Instead, it became my first failed mountain. Rather than walking in from Charlotte Pass, I attempted Kosciuszko via Australia’s toughest alpine ascent triathlon, consisting of:

• 3 km swim

• 113 km bike ride with ~2,800m elevation gain

• Half marathon to the summit and back

Six hours into the effort, less than a kilometre from the summit, race marshals shortened the course due to deteriorating weather conditions. I was forced to turn around.

It was out of my control and that made it worse. Disappointing, yes, but entirely understandable given the conditions and the responsibility of event organisers to prioritise safety. The day involved more than 3,000 metres of elevation gain, all while being hammered by horizontal rain, winds gusting between 70 and 100 km/h, near sub-zero temperatures, and heavy fog that reduced visibility to almost nothing. Along the way, I dealt with two flat tyres and even managed to lose my phone somewhere on the mountain. I would not have finished without the support of the older competitors around me, and without Jono, who generously handed over a spare tyre when I needed it most.

Kosciuszko may be labelled easy on paper, but that day was a reminder that conditions, not reputations, decide how hard a mountain becomes. The summit will always be there. Sometimes the lesson arrives before you reach it.

Redemption via Hannels Spur

Six months later, I returned via the Hannels Spur track, Australia’s greatest vertical ascent:

• Elevation gain: ~1,800 m (starting from ~450masl to get to the summit)

• Terrain: Steep, overgrown, poorly defined in sections

• Requirements: Navigation competence, PLB, self-reliance
  

Climbing Hannels Spur solo was demanding and quiet. No crowds. No chairlifts. Just navigation, wildlife, and decision-making. Passing eastern brown snakes and negotiating wombat burrows kept complacency firmly in check. Standing on the summit that day felt earned.

Summit Three: Mont Blanc: Wind, Judgment, and the Cost of Continuing

18 September 2022 | 4,808 m / 15,774 ft | France–Italy

Due to geopolitical realities, Mount Elbrus was off the table. Instead, I turned to Mont Blanc, climbing it solo after extensive preparation in the Stans.

Key Mont Blanc Facts

• Highest point: 4,808 m / 15,774 ft

• Route: Goûter Route

• Key huts: Goûter Hut (3,835 m / 12,582 ft), Vallot Emergency Shelter (4,362 m)

That summer, severe heat destabilised permafrost, triggering deadly rockfall. The mountain was temporarily closed. When I summited in mid-September, conditions were brutally cold. Winds exceeded 45 km/h and with ambient temperatures well below freezing, the wind chill on the upper mountain pushed toward –25°C (–13°F). Out of the hundred of climbers attempting the summit that morning, fewer than twenty continued beyond Vallot. My sunglasses were ripped clean off my face (strapped and all) and blown off the mountain side into Italy.

Climbing Mont Blanc was never about convenience. It was about testing whether the skills I’d been accumulating quietly and deliberately could stand on their own in a place where conditions, not ambition, dictate the outcome.

The Massif had teeth that morning.

What Mont Blanc Taught Me

Mont Blanc reinforced something essential in my progression:

Experience doesn’t eliminate risk, it only sharpens your ability to recognise when continuing is justified. That morning wasn’t about bravado or endurance. It was about reading conditions honestly, accepting discomfort without forcing outcomes, and understanding that solo does not mean recklessness but accountability. I descended knowing I’d made the right calls, not because I summited, but because I could explain every decision that led me there.

Aconcagua: The First Truly Big Solo Test

21 December 2022 | 6,961 m / 22,838 ft | Argentina

Later that year, I climbed Aconcagua, the highest mountain outside Asia, as a solo expedition. While technically "straightforward", Aconcagua is physiologically savage. Wind, cold, and altitude strip strength relentlessly. Carrying your own loads at that elevation compounds every decision, every gram, every step, every delay. I’ve detailed that expedition fully in a separate post, but emotionally, it marked a turning point. Doubt was present. So was growth. Altitude at nearly 7,000 metres feels like living permanently at the end of a sprint.

This was my first mountain where the margin for error felt genuinely thin.

Logistics, Regulation, and Responsibility

While the climb itself was solo above base camp, I did use logistical support where it made sense and aligned with safety and stewardship:

• Transport from Mendoza to Horcones (the national park entrance)

• Mule support from Horcones to Confluencia, and onward to Plaza de Mulas

From Plaza de Mulas (4,370 m / 14,337 ft) to the summit and back, however, I was fully self-supported, carrying my own food, tent, fuel, and equipment.

One thing Aconcagua does exceptionally well compared to many major peaks is regulation.

The national park enforces:

• Mandatory medical checks at Confluencia and Plaza de Mulas

• Rescue insurance for helicopter evacuation before permits are issued

• Strict waste management protocols, including human waste controls

These systems actively prevent climbers from continuing if they are showing signs of altitude illness, and they set a standard that many other high-altitude mountains and/or treks would benefit from adopting more rigorously.

What Aconcagua Changed

Emotionally, Aconcagua marked a turning point. Doubt was present and there were moments where retreat would have been the sensible choice. Growth came not from ignoring that doubt, but from listening to it, weighing it, and responding without ego. This mountain reinforced a principle that has guided every climb since: The goal is not to prove resilience. The goal is to develop judgment.

Where This Leaves the Seven Summits Journey

This journey has never been about speed. It’s been about building judgment slowly enough that, when Everest eventually enters the picture, I know:

• how my body responds

• what gear I trust

• when to push — and when to walk away

If I stand on Everest one day, it will not define the journey.If I turn around, the journey will still have been worth it.

The mountains will remain.

Where This Leaves the Seven Summits Journey

This journey has never been about speed. It has been about building judgment slowly enough that, if the opportunity to attempt Everest ever arises, I already know:

• how my body responds under prolonged hypoxia

• what gear I trust when conditions turn hostile

• when to push and when to walk away

If I stand on Everest one day, it will not define the journey. If I turn around, the journey will still have been worth it.

Looking Ahead: What Remains

At the time of writing, five peaks remain unfinished.

• Mount Elbrus — geopolitically uncertain, timeframe unknown

• Mount Vinson — remote, logistically intense and expensive, time frame - most likely last on the list

• Carstensz Pyramid — close to home geographically, but complex politically and culturally

• Denali — colder, more technical, and arguably more demanding than Everest, timeframe - tempting (prefer to undertake with an independent group)

• Mount Everest — highest, not necessarily hardest, but uniquely unforgiving
  

At present, I lean toward Mount Everest, largely because my tolerance for risk has shifted as I’ve grown older. I weigh the risks associated with prolonged altitude exposure and time spent in the death zone differently to those posed by sustained arctic cold and the technical demands of Denali.

The reality of mountaineering is that things can go wrong, regardless of preparation or experience. When they do, the consequences extend beyond the individual. My current age and future family considerations now play a central role in how I assess these objectives. I am increasingly conscious of responsibility, and of the weight my choices could place on someone else should the worst-case scenario eventuate.Those considerations shape what comes next, not out of fear, but out of respect for the life I am building beyond the mountains. For now, though, I’m not in a hurry. After eight months of Bikepacking Across Asia, I’m still recovering mentally and physically. That doesn’t mean I’m idle. It simply means I’m satisfied with life at this moment, preparing quietly rather than chasing the next summit.

The mountains are patient.