Monsoon on the Edge: Trekking Annapurna as its Glaciers Vanish

May 2024 — Nepal stood at the threshold of its monsoon, but the mountains themselves seemed already in upheaval. Our flight to Pokhara materialized through a rare break in swirling mist. Our guide later revealed that all domestic flights from Kathmandu were grounded for two weeks due to hazardous visibility. We had slipped through a narrow window into a changing climate.

Every step on the trail was accompanied by fierce, unrelenting rain. Water ran in silver threads down the slopes, pooling on the path, seeping into boots. In that torrent, I could sense the ancient rhythm of the Himalayas being fed each year — monsoon clouds drifting in from the Bay of Bengal, releasing their weight into the snowfields and rivers.

When we reached Annapurna Base Camp, the view stopped me in my tracks. Snow-clad peaks blazed in the fading light, and the air was so thin and sharp it felt like crystal in my lungs. Annapurna was as stunning as ever — and yet my awe was shadowed by worry. The glacier, once sprawling in photos I had seen, had retreated far up the valley, leaving behind bare rock and loose scree. It was summer, yes, but this degree of melt is far from normal.

The data matches what I saw. Between 1980 and 2010, Nepal lost about 25 percent of its glacier area. Melting has since accelerated — in the Hindu-Kush Himalaya region, glaciers are now disappearing 65 percent faster than they did in the previous decade. It’s no longer a distant climate statistic; it’s visible in the landscape itself.

Every village we passed sat perched on a slope, vulnerable to flash floods, landslides, and glacial lake outburst floods. In September 2024, Kathmandu endured its worst monsoon in decades — 323.5 mm of rain fell in just 24 hours, an event made 70 percent more likely by human-driven climate change. For trekkers, such weather means risk; for locals, it means survival itself.

The Annapurna trek is more than a physical challenge. It’s a moving reminder that environmental change is both global and personal. The mountains may be ancient, but their future — and the future of the communities that depend on them — is uncertain.

Climate action is not optional. Whether through policy, advocacy, or personal choices, the time to act is now. I left Nepal grateful for the chance to see Annapurna still standing majestic, but also aware that beauty alone won’t protect it. The question is whether we will.