Mount Wilhelm: A True Lesson in Humility on the Roof of Papua New Guinea!
View of the valley and Lake Piunde from the peaks of the Bismarck Range, Simbu Province
The sun finally breaks through on the horizon, and the sky is painted in shades of orange as day begins to dawn. Our brave climbing team is experiencing a truly exceptional morning. At over four thousand meters of altitude, we’ve already completed a solid ascent, and before us unfolds an absolutely magnificent landscape.
As for me, a night of headaches and dizziness caused by hypoxia is coming to an end, giving way to a morning full of promise. Just a few more difficult steps, and suddenly, after crossing the final pass, the distinctive silhouette of Mount Wilhelm — the highest peak in Papua New Guinea — finally comes into view!
The summit that has captivated me for so long, I can now see it at last.
L-R: Igor, Damien, Thibaut, Thierry, Aymeric and Pierre
To reach this long-awaited day, we had to overcome countless obstacles. Whether related to safety, politics, or the economy, we faced challenges well beyond our control. From the “Highlands ban” that lasted from February to August 2023, to the looming “Vote of No Confidence” against Prime Minister James Marape, and even a kerosene shortage that threatened to ground all flights—our journey required unshakable patience and resolve.
Damien has been part of this adventure with me since early last year, when we first launched the idea of summiting the highest mountain in the country. Perseverance, in fact, has been the driving force behind this expedition, guiding us through every step up until this day—May 31, 2024.
The day begins long before dawn. It's precisely 1:02 AM when we set out on the trail. Darkness envelops everything, and our small group stretches into a single file, cutting through the night. Guided only by the glow of our headlamps, we move cautiously, avoiding the holes and puddles left by the last rainfall. Each of us is preceded by our “guardian angel”—a local guide, most of whom come from the nearby village of Gembogl.
We skirt along the edge of the lake that had captivated us the day before, late in the morning, as we reached the open plain where our shelter—base camp—sits at an altitude of 3,550 meters.
View of the valley and Lake Piunde from the Base camp at 3,550 meters above sea level, Simbu Province
Then, the terrain suddenly begins to rise sharply beneath our feet. Before long, we're forced to take wide, deliberate steps—made all the more difficult by the thinning air. The altitude is robbing us of the oxygen we so desperately need.
I quickly become breathless, struggling to keep pace with the group. My frequent stops slow us down, and soon I’m feeling dizzy. Panic starts to creep in. How will I ever make it to the summit in this state, especially when we’ve likely not even passed the 4,000-meter mark?
Thierry, who has been keeping a steady rhythm for our ascent, finally suggests that I take the lead. From now on, the group will match my pace. Slowly but surely. My head is pounding, the migraine spreading like a storm through my skull, and I’m gasping for air. Arnold, my guide, stays close, his firm hand keeping me from stumbling off to the left or the right.
Suddenly, I ask for another break. Damien reassures me gently, saying he doesn’t mind the frequent pauses at all. Pierre, too, is starting to show signs of exhaustion—he couldn’t eat anything for breakfast, and like me, didn’t get much rest during the short, restless night.
The darkness gradually begins to fade, and we start to make out massive rock formations looming ahead. They appear enormous—insurmountable. If the summit truly lies atop the roof of Papua New Guinea (and even of Oceania, according to some), then there’s no other choice: we’ll have to climb those rocks.
The very idea feels almost unimaginable at this hour—especially as our physical condition worsens by the minute. Our breaks become more frequent, and our pace slows even further. To make matters worse, my headlamp begins to fail me. Its beam weakens, forcing me to rely on the flickering glow of my teammates’ lamps to find my footing.
Suddenly, a soft natural light fills the valley. It’s 6:00 AM. The sun rises, finally revealing the landscape we’ve been moving through for the past five hours. Below us now lie Lakes Aunde and Piunde, which we had passed earlier. During the climb, we had heard the distant roar of the waterfall linking the two—Aunde, the larger one, pouring its waters into Piunde.
The sun’s rays stretch quickly across the horizon, bringing a long-awaited sense of comfort. It feels like encouragement—like hope. My headache is still pounding, but I can now see the terrain clearly, and the cold has loosened its grip. That alone is a relief. Just moments ago, I felt my strength slipping away. But now? I start to believe again. Yes, I will reach the summit this morning.
But not everyone feels the same at this precise moment. As I turn around, I see three of my companions stop and settle onto a broad, flat rock overlooking the valley. They’ve decided to end their climb there. When they asked the guides whether we would see the summit from the top of the pass, the answer had been clear: “Not yet—you’ll still have to scramble over a few more rocky ridges to get there.” That was the breaking point for them. They chose to stop the ascent.
I want to keep going. I feel I can. Taking Arnold by the arm, I whisper in his ear, “You’re going to take me to the summit, aren’t you?”
So I gather my strength, grit my teeth, and push forward. As I leave behind the group that stayed lower down, I gain altitude—and each step becomes more challenging. I try to inhale as much oxygen as I can to lessen the effort, but it’s increasingly scarce, and the resulting headaches grow more intense with every breath.
My faithful guide watches over me, supporting me with unwavering resolve. At last, I pass the first ridge, made up of loose stones of all sizes. Thierry is already far ahead. As for Igor, he must surely be at the summit by now. Oddly, that thought comforts me. I feel the peak I’ve dreamed of standing upon for so long is no longer far away.
Then Arnold gestures for me to look westward. And there it is—the summit of Mount Wilhelm rising before me, barely veiled by a soft wisp of cloud that gently drifts aside, allowing me to admire it in full. I’m spellbound. I can hardly believe my eyes.
The summit is within reach, but I won’t make it this time
Just long enough to snap a photo with my companion, and then we’re off again. Although it feels as if my brain is melting, I keep walking. I have to make it, no matter what. Yet, at that moment, a phrase from my childhood comes to mind: “In the mountains, sometimes you have to know when to let go.” And another, from just last night, almost as if it were advice given to adventurers: “If you don’t feel it, don’t push it. Don’t go.” It dawns on me that I must heed these warnings.
I take a few more steps, and the symptoms of acute mountain sickness become unmistakable. What if I were to develop cerebral edema from the altitude? These thoughts start to unsettle me, and I slow my pace. When I look up, I see Thierry and his guide, closely followed by Igor, and then our main guide, Peter. They’re beginning their descent.
Thierry, seeing me pushing myself, discourages me from continuing. I turn toward the summit; it’s just a few meters away, maybe only a hundred meters. The peak is just fifty meters higher than where we stand. I’m torn. The desire to reach the goal I’ve been striving for over a year clashes with my body and my conscience, which are urging me to stop. A cluster of clouds rises from the valley and begins to cover the coveted dome—that’s the sign Peter is waiting for to influence my decision. It’s clear now: if the weather turns, I won’t be able to fight it. So, with a heavy heart and a soul torn, I ultimately decide to turn back from the summit.
On the way down, Thierry and Igor share with me that this was probably one of the hardest summits they’ve ever had to climb. For me, though, I know it’s just postponed.
It seems Mount Wilhelm isn’t done haunting me yet.
The rooftop of Papua New Guinea, and even of Oceania
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