Guiding Himalayan treks, Nepali woman scales mountains of social taboos

She left her first husband after he returned home from a "trip" to India with a second wife. Despite the humiliation and discrimination she knew she'd suffer from friends and even family, who offered no financial support to her, she divorced him. "Once I left, I never looked back," she says firmly.

Although she exudes confidence and wisdom now, Biswakarma was once just as timid as the rookie trainees who start out speaking in a whisper and avoiding eye contact.

"She is totally different today from when she first came to us," observes EWN founder Lucky Chhetri. "She spoke no English; had no skills and no confidence. [She has] changed dramatically."

Ms. Chhetri recognizes that Biswakarma's situation stands apart from other guides: "Even though she's married, she is continuing to live her own life. [This is] unusual. Many girls who get married as guides end up depending on men again."

Biswakarma now lives in a small apartment near the EWN office with her husband and her 4-year-old daughter, Sabanam. With the money she earns she sends Sabanam to a private school. During the off-season it's tough to make ends meet, she says, but she is earning substantially more than most working women. With her primary school education, she'd normally only command 100 to 150 rupees a day ($1.50 to $2.50). As one of 10 permanent guides at EWN she makes 400 rupees a day (25 more for treks above 3,000 meters) plus benefits.

She is far from the life her mother raised her to lead. "My mother taught me to work in the field and the kitchen," she laughs, as if she's telling a joke. "She told me, 'Women have to get married. [They] have to work, clean, get up early, and be a good housewife. And if you don't know how to do your housewife duties, then your husband's family will complain about you to me.'"

Little Sabanam is raised on a different mantra: "Study first, no work."

"I didn't get much education so I want more for her," Sabanam's hopeful mother explains."

Biswakarma shuffles through eight years worth of photos from her treks – showing me mementos of journeys that have toughened her physically, broadened her understanding of the world, and inspired new friendships. One Dutch trekker grew so fond of her that she sponsored a year of Sabanam's education. Another client from France mailed her hiking boots.

Biswakarma's first trek of the fall season is with a family of three from Sacramento, here for a 10-day journey to the Annapurna base camp. She greets them at dawn, beaming, wearing a baseball cap, synthetic pants rolled up above her ankles, hiking boots, and traditional red marriage bangles on both her arms.

As they drive to their drop-off point, Biswakarma chatters happily with her clients about tikas – circles made of red or yellow paste that Hindu Nepalis smudge on their forehead as a blessing. She points out landslides in the hills and jokes that there are no helicopter rescues out where they're going.

The mother, Denise Jabusch, laughs nervously. But as the van rounds a hair-pin turn in the road, high above the clouds, Biswakarma starts singing, in her Nepali-accented English: "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray...."

Ms. Jabusch relaxes and joins in.

Eight years ago, Biswakarma could have never imagined she'd be a trekking guide. She hadn't even seen mountains before she went on her first trek, as a porter, let alone challenge the limits of her confidence and society's proscriptions on a woman's life here.

But she is clearly atop her own personal summit as she puts her American clients at ease.

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