Nothing on earth beats a bowl of thukpa after a freezing day at altitude — it's basically a hug you can drink. My grandmother's version was just noodles, broth and love, and it still beats every fancy restaurant I've tried.

First solo trek I led, I took a wrong turn and we reached camp three hours late in the dark. At 20 I was sure I'd ruined my career. The clients tipped me and rebooked. Turns out owning the mistake mattered more than the mistake.

Off-season in Spiti is six months of snow and very few humans. Sounds peaceful, gets lonely. I've learned winter isn't empty, it's just quiet asking you to sit with yourself. Some years I'm better at it than others.

A tourist once told me Spiti looked 'like the moon, but sadder'. I laughed for a week. To me these cold brown mountains are the warmest place on earth — you just have to stay long enough to hear them.

Guiding treks in Spiti means my gym is 4000 metres up with a client asking 'how much further' every ten steps. Real fitness isn't the six-pack, it's still smiling on the last climb. My lungs are my proudest muscle.