The Final Mile Is Always the Worst

Today was both better and tougher than yesterday. Better, because I abandoned the fantasy that I need to treat the Manaslu Circuit like a 100m dash and beat Usain Bolt’s record. Tougher, because the day was long, sweaty, and ended with a mile that felt designed by someone who hates legs. The upside: I finished without spending an hour researching helicopter evacuation prices. (As of yesterday, I can confirm—they’re very expensive at $6000-$6500 to return from most of the Manaslu Circuit to Kathmandu.)

We left Jagat around 7:15 a.m., climbing almost immediately. Slow and steady, porter style: walk for 45 minutes, pause for a few, then carry on. It’s a rhythm that works. The early reward was spectacular—three rivers crashing together in a riot of waterfalls, all plunging into the Budhi Gandaki below.

This was also the last day with much road walking. From here on, the “roads” vanish and we’re on footpaths proper.

I strapped my Gore-Tex Nikes to the back of my pack to let them dry, where they bounced merrily along all morning like cheerful mascots. We passed huge waterfalls, some of them so tall they looked as though they came directly from the sky. Butterflies were everywhere—brilliant flashes of color against the greenery. Less charming were the stinging nettles, which lined the path in thick stretches, ready to brush against any exposed skin. Canna lilies and the occasional cannabis plant added to the Himalayan garden feel.

We threaded through lightly forested sections, always with the Budhi Gandaki somewhere nearby, booming or rushing or whispering depending on the bend of the valley.

We stopped for lunch in a small village named (when translated into English) Cold Water around 11 a.m. The next real option, Nyak, was three more hours away, so this was the sensible choice. I dunked my feet into a tub of icy water, which felt like heaven. Lunch was dal bhat again, and—though I’ve said this every day so far—it really does taste better when you’ve earned it.

By this point I had already consumed about 3 liters of water. By the end of the day, I’d put away 6 liters total. Garmin, ever the cheerful statistician, estimated I sweated out 7.3 liters. A losing battle.

I have decoded the Nepalese Theory of Path Building and it is as follows:

It goes something like this:

1. Gather a pile of jagged rocks.
2. Throw them on the ground in a random pattern, ensuring maximum shin-shredding and ankle-risking angles.
3. Done.

Every village seemed to follow this design manual. Nyak, in particular, could use a huge upgrade. Speaking of Nyak, a Yak is to a bull as a Nyak is to a cow.

The trail included several long, high suspension bridges, bouncing underfoot like trampolines. They’re unnerving at first, but you get used to them—eventually. We passed occasional rockfall sections, though thankfully nothing as terrifying as yesterday’s waterfall ordeal.

At one point, I felt myself flagging badly. My pack seemed to be bouncing strangely, and my vision had a faint wobble. I decided to test my mental clarity: 1 + 1 = 7. Good enough, I figured, and trudged on. The bouncing continued until I finally looked down and realized my shoes, tied tightly all day to my pack, had worked themselves loose and were flapping with every step. Crisis solved.

By late afternoon, the real punishment began. From a ridge, I could see Deng—our destination—maybe 500 meters away as the crow flies, at the same altitude. A simple traverse, right? Wrong. The trail took an hour of “ups and downs,” climbing nearly 1,400 feet in the process. Every rise felt like a personal insult.

We arrived in Deng around 4 p.m., wiped out. My Garmin claimed I had worked at maximum aerobic and anaerobic effort again, while Whoop awarded me strain numbers that looked like they belonged to an Olympic event.

The day had its cast of unusual cameos. A Buddhist monk was squatting on a path no wider than a shoe, casually making soup. When my face involuntarily registered confusion at the location, he glared at me in a way that suggested soup is always the correct answer. Later we passed an angry cow occupying the trail, a standoff I lost by retreating into the bushes. Near Nyak, vultures circled the river—large, ominous, and very interested in anything that might misstep on the jagged rock paths.

The tea house in Deng felt different: simpler, quieter, more austere. Rain pounded down outside, knocking out the already weak Wi-Fi. Dinner was dal bhat, again. My room had no frills, just the essentials - including electricity - and the mattress was thin but serviceable.

Deng did not have any cockerels, but it did have what I have called the world’s most annoying cricket. Late evening, and from about 5am, it made an insanely loud sound I’ve captured for your pleasure:

It had been a long, brutal day. But despite the rain, the nettles, the rock paths, and the final mile that belonged in an obstacle course, it was also stunning. The rivers, the butterflies, the villages—they make the exhaustion feel worthwhile.

Tomorrow, more stairs. Always more stairs.

This is my heart rate data for the day, drawn with altitude and temperature. Note the much lower heart rates as compared with the day before.

Volatren and Ibuprofen continued today. 400mg of Ibuprofen at 5pm, with Voltaren on the shoulders at about 1pm and 8pm. Blisters appeared on my thumbs today from my trekking poles.

Electrolytes:

• 2x LMNT
• 2x SaltStick chews
• 4x Propel 0.5l of water packets

Food:

• Breakfast: 2x MET-RX Super Cookie Crunch. 820 cals, 84g carbs, 42g protein.
• Dal Bhat for lunch: I skipped some of the mystery veg as it had some grain in it. I also skipped the Dal - so just a cup of rice and half a handful of potatoes. Maybe 450cal.
• After lunch snack: Gatorade recovery bar. 410 cals, 20g protein
• 1.5L of coke, 33g of carbs
• Afternoon snack: 100 cal bag of lightly salted almonds. My porter was looking shot so I gave him the Kars trail mix pack.
• Dal Bhat for dinner: mystery steamed veg seemed ok. Dal again seemed grainy. Potatoes and rice fine. Maybe 470cal.