Between Routes and Years - The process is the Ascent

In the Middle of it -high in Kishtwar Himalaya

There are partnerships in climbing that feel engineered—built on convenience, proximity, or shared ambition. And then there are those that evolve more organically, forged over years of shared exposure, risk, and trust. My climbing life with my brother, Spandan Sanyal, belongs firmly to the latter. Ours is not just a record of ascents, but a slow accumulation of days where movement, fear, and decision-making aligned across terrain that demanded everything we had.

It began, in many ways, on 20 September 2017, on the Mahalaya route.
A long line—550 meters, TD, 6a+—that forced us to reconcile with scale. We were younger then, but already drawn to routes that required more than physical ability. Mahalaya wasn’t simply about climbing; it was about managing space, exposure, and fatigue. The rock demanded precision, especially in the harder sections, but what stayed with us was the continuity—the sense that once committed, retreat dissolved into irrelevance. We moved as a unit, not always efficiently, but always together, learning the quiet rhythm that would later define our climbing.

Two years later, in October 2019, we stepped into a harsher environment on the south face of CCKN.
The route—D+/TD-, 700 meters, with sustained 70–80° snow and ice—was less forgiving, less negotiable. At 6000 meters, during a cold bivouac carved into a hostile slope, the nature of the partnership shifted. This was no longer about shared enthusiasm; it was about mutual dependence. The climbing itself was direct and unrelenting—steep ice, insecure placements, and the constant background noise of altitude. But the bivouac defined the climb: a suspended pause where survival, not progress, became the metric. By the time we descended, something fundamental had solidified between us. Trust was no longer assumed—it had been tested.

By May 2021, the environment changed, but the intensity did not.
At Rakchham, on the sport route Shilajit (8b+), the focus narrowed to pure difficulty. The movement was exacting, the sequences unforgiving. After the expansiveness of alpine faces, this was a different kind of confrontation—one measured in millimeters and body tension. The send was not dramatic, but it was important. It marked an expansion of our range: from long, committing routes into the realm of high-end sport climbing, where execution is absolute.

The progression continued into June 2023, at Chichoga, on Little Beauty (E7 6c).
This was trad climbing at its most psychological. Protection was there—but only just. The climbing required composure above gear that demanded belief more than certainty. Every move was a negotiation between control and consequence. Compared to the brute continuity of alpine routes, this felt surgical. It sharpened a different edge—one where commitment is internal, quiet, and constant.

Then came 2024, a year where everything seemed to converge.

On 5 October 2024, at Rakchham, we established Sugar Fish (8B+), a first ascent that distilled years of experience into a single boulder problem. The crux revolved around razor-thin crimps—8 to 10 mm edges, sharp and uncompromising—linked by a powerful movement on a steep overhang with poor footholds. It was a problem that resisted casual effort. Skin became a limiting factor; precision had to be perfect. The ascent wasn’t just about strength—it required the kind of micro-calibration that only comes from long exposure to difficult climbing. Establishing it felt less like a breakthrough and more like an inevitable outcome of accumulated specificity.

Nine days later, on 14 October 2024, we returned to longer terrain on the Chonghor route—250 meters, 7a.
If Mahalaya had been our introduction and CCKN our trial, Chonghor was something more refined. The crux section—a sustained, thin layback for nearly 20 feet—demanded both endurance and precision. It was overwhelming in the moment, a continuous test of grip strength and mental control. But unlike earlier years, there was no hesitation in how we handled it. Movement flowed with a kind of quiet certainty. Even the descent—four full-length abseils down the left of the line—felt procedural, almost secondary.

Looking back across these climbs, what stands out is not just the increase in difficulty, but the integration of different disciplines. Alpine routes, steep ice, hard sport, bold trad, and cutting-edge bouldering—each informed the other. Strength from the boulders fed into crux sequences on long routes. Alpine composure translated into control above marginal gear. Sport climbing precision sharpened efficiency everywhere else.

But more than that, it is the continuity of partnership that defines the story.

Climbing with Spandan has never been about division of roles or explicit communication. It operates at a level that often goes unspoken—a shared understanding of pace, risk tolerance, and decision thresholds. Over the years, that understanding has been shaped by cold bivouacs, insecure protection, painful falls, and moments where success hinged on absolute commitment.

From Mahalaya in 2017 to Chonghor in 2024, the terrain has changed, the grades have risen, and the style has diversified. But the essential dynamic remains the same: two climbers moving through space, tied not just by rope, but by a long accumulation of shared experience.

In the end, the routes are markers—but the partnership is the line that connects them.

Mahalaya Route — 20 September 2017 (TD, 6a+, 550m)

It began, in many ways, on the Mahalaya route.
A long line that forced us to reconcile with scale. We were younger then, but already drawn to routes that required more than physical ability. Mahalaya wasn’t simply about climbing; it was about managing space, exposure, and fatigue. The rock demanded precision, especially in the harder sections, but what stayed with us was the continuity—the sense that once committed, retreat dissolved into irrelevance. We moved as a unit, not always efficiently, but always together, learning the quiet rhythm that would later define our climbing.

Crux pitch of Mahalaya

For the process of development Chichoga, added another layer —not through a single ascent, but through repetition.
Guiding on 35-meter routes in the 6a to 7a range became a form of embedded training. Day after day, we moved over the same terrain, refining footwork, optimizing sequences, and eliminating unnecessary effort.

This constant exposure created a kind of subconscious efficiency. Movement became automatic, almost pre-programmed. On Mahalaya, that efficiency was critical. The route demanded composure above marginal protection, where hesitation translates directly into risk.

The guiding work was not separate from performance—it was integral. It built the ability to climb cleanly, without wasted energy, over sustained sections. Exactly what alpine walls demand.

CCKN South Face — October 2019 (D+/TD-, 700m, 70–80° Snow/Ice, Bivouac at 6000m)

By the time we reached the south face of CCKN, the stakes had escalated.
The terrain—700 meters of steep snow and ice—required not just strength, but repeatable efficiency under stress. The bivouac at 6000 meters made that clear. Fatigue was cumulative, and any wasted energy carried forward.

Preparation had started to evolve. We were climbing with more intent, focusing on movement under load and exposure. But the systems were still incomplete. The climb highlighted a critical need: the ability to maintain precision when exhausted, and to execute technical movement without cognitive overload.

That realization would shape everything that followed.

Bivouac @6000 meter

Shilajit — May 2021 (8b+, Sport, Rakchham)

The shift became visible by May 2021, on Shilajit.
Here, preparation was no longer general—it was targeted. We began structuring sessions on the home board, focusing on small edges, controlled body tension, and long, powerful moves. The board became a laboratory: 15–20 mm edges, extended reaches, and sequences that demanded accuracy under fatigue.

Shilajit’s 8b+ difficulty reflected that shift. The route required exact execution—no excess movement, no inefficiency. What alpine routes had exposed, sport climbing now refined. Every move had to be deliberate, and that discipline translated directly back to longer objectives.

Shilajit 8b+ ✅

Little Beauty — June 2023 (E7 6c, Trad, Chichoga)

Before returning to the big walls, there was a final debt to pay to the "backyard." In the dappled light of Chichoga, we stepped up to Little Beauty. A headpoint trad line on technical gneiss, it carried the terrifying grade of E7 6c. It was a climb where a fall was not an option—a test of psychological absolute zero. This ascent fused his high-end bouldering strength with the steady nerves required for unprotected technical movement.
Hawa Acha Laga 5.12+ Trad

Sugar Fish — 5 October 2024 (8B+, FA, Rakchham)

By 2024, the preparation system had fully matured.
The homeboard sessions had become highly specific: micro crimps in the 8–10 mm range, powerful 90–100 cm movements, poor footholds on steep angles. These were not arbitrary constraints—they directly mirrored the demands of high-end bouldering.

Sugar Fish emerged from that environment. The problem’s crux—razor-thin crimps and a long, precise movement—was essentially a distilled version of board training. Skin management, finger strength, and movement accuracy all converged.

The first ascent was not an isolated peak. It was an outcome of sustained, specific preparation.

Sugar Fish 8B+ FA ✅

Chonghor Route — 14 October 2024 (7a, 250m)

Nine days later, the translation back to longer terrain was immediate.
On the Chonghor route, the crux—a sustained, thin layback for nearly 20 feet—required both endurance and precision. But unlike earlier years, there was no visible struggle in how we approached it.

The efficiency built through guiding at Chichoga and the precision developed on the homeboard combined seamlessly. Movements were executed without hesitation. Energy expenditure was controlled. Even after the crux, there was no collapse in performance.

The descent—four full-length abseils—was handled with the same clarity. Systems were clean, transitions efficient.

Steep overhanging corner 7a/+

Looking across these climbs, the progression is not just in grades or scale, but in integration.

Homeboard training developed maximum strength, precision, and the ability to execute powerful moves on small holds.
Guiding on moderate routes built movement efficiency, repeatability, and endurance over longer pitches.
Alpine objectives tested the system under real consequences, where inefficiency is amplified and mistakes accumulate.

Each element fed the others. Nothing was isolated.

What defines our climbing now is not just what we can do, but how consistently we can do it—across disciplines, across environments, and under pressure.

And through all of it, the partnership remains constant.

With Spandan, movement is rarely discussed—it is understood. Decisions are made quickly, often without words. Years of shared preparation and shared exposure have created a system where both climbers operate with the same assumptions, the same thresholds.

From Mahalaya in 2017 to Chonghor in 2024, the climbs trace a clear arc. But the deeper story lies in the preparation behind them—the deliberate construction of a system that allows us to move efficiently, precisely, and confidently through any terrain we choose to engage.

The routes are outcomes.
The process is the real ascent.

Jibbinibbi

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