Puncak Jaya — Sacred Ground, Heavy Costs

For years, Puncak Jaya felt like a mirage. I didn’t think we’d ever make it.

We had originally booked with Reagan from Summit Carstensz — who held onto climbers’ money for years, canceling and delaying without delivering. It felt hopeless. Then I stumbled across Tropik Adventures (mention me for a discount!), who promised permits. I was skeptical, but against the odds, they delivered. Suddenly, with two weeks’ notice, we were scrambling to burn airline points, crisscross the globe, and try again.

The Mountain Behind the Mountain

Nawakase (Puncak Jaya/Carstensz Pyramid) is the highest peak in Oceania — a jagged limestone spire that rises straight out of the rainforest. But the climb itself isn’t the hardest part. Getting there is.

The only way in is by helicopter. The surrounding valleys are home to one of the most contentious conflicts in modern mining. The Grasberg Mine, the largest gold mine in the world, sits directly between Timika and basecamp. Operated by Freeport-McMoRan, it has devastated the land and displaced Indigenous Papuans.

Local tribes consider Puncak Jaya sacred. But to keep the mine running, the Indonesian government has militarized the region — displacing, brutalizing, and even killing communities who resist. Trekking in is impossible not because of wilderness, but because of violence. For climbers, that means you fly in by helicopter, hovering over the scars of the mine and the human cost it leaves behind.

This reality sat heavy on me. To stand on this mountain meant stepping into a place where people had been pushed out. Where climbing wasn’t just adventure, but an echo of injustice.

Getting There

By the time we arrived in Papua, my body was run down. After two months at sea level across Central Asia and North Africa, my altitude conditioning was gone. Add in 14 days of flights — Cairo → Saudi Arabia → Cairo → New York → Denver → Canada → Montana → Seattle → Tokyo → Jakarta → Timika — and I was already sick. The planes were full of coughing passengers. By the time we landed, so was I.

Day one: helicopter grounded by rain. My biggest fear. Climbers sometimes wait weeks for a flight window.
Day two: the skies opened, and we flew. In minutes we went from jungle to glacier, 0 to 14,000 ft.

Basecamp

I popped a Diamox to take the edge off. It helped, but the cough lingered. My head pounded. My nose wouldn’t stop running. I barely slept. We practiced jumaring on the fixed lines, but I just wanted to climb and be done.

The Climb

We set off in the night. The mountain itself was exhilarating — sharp limestone, airy traverses, a technical rhythm I love. Climbing calms me. But my lungs were failing me. My breathing was shallow, erratic, my O₂ dropping, my cough endless.

Still, I moved.

In 8.5 hours, we made the round trip. Miraculously, it didn’t rain once — a rarity in the Papuan highlands. But I was suffering. By the summit, I had to take dexamethasone just to breathe. No one knew if it was HAPE, HACE, or just infection. Later I learned it was bronchitis from the plane. The cough lasted 20 days after the climb.

Lesson

Puncak Jaya wasn’t clean. It wasn’t triumphant. But it was real.

The mountain itself was beautiful — one of the most unique climbs I’ve ever done. But its story is haunted by injustice: a sacred peak in a colonized land, overshadowed by one of the most destructive mines on Earth.

Climbers like me get to fly in, tag the summit, and fly out. But the people of Papua don’t get that choice. They’ve lost homes, forests, and sacred ground.

Standing on the summit, I couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Proud of my fight through sickness. Awed by the limestone ridges. But also deeply aware: this was not just a climb. It was a reminder that exploration never exists in a vacuum. Mountains hold stories — and some of them are heavier than the packs we carry.