Following her diagnosis for Deafblindness while studying at the University of Bath, Caroline found her world narrowing – until mountaineering opened it again
I was always adventurous, but it became even more purposeful to experience the world after my Deafblindness diagnosis. I went to Nepal about three years ago and did the Everest Base Camp trek. At the time, that was my Everest. I never imagined the summit could be possible. But on that trek, I met climbers aiming to become the first Deaf people to reach the top. Hearing their stories made me realise that no Deafblind person had ever attempted it. I thought: what if I tried? That question never left me.
Back in Bath, I was introduced to my friend’s neighbour – Dr Sundeep Dhillon. He’s a mountaineer, a former army GP and was the youngest person to complete the Seven Summits. I told him I wanted to summit Everest. He didn’t make it easy. He asked very direct, difficult questions to test whether I truly understood what I was taking on. And when I still wanted to do it, he helped me build clear training milestones that shaped the mission. Since then, I’ve been speaking to more mountaineers, brands and professionals who have helped me reach this point.
The most exciting experience so far has been summiting Mera Peak. It was my first 6,400-metre mountain, and the moment I realised I wasn’t training any more – I had actually become a mountaineer. Reaching the summit as a Deafblind climber, overcoming communication and navigation challenges with my Sherpas, feeling the cold, thin air and enduring long hours was a life-changing moment. The most difficult part hasn’t been the mountains themselves, but the emotional landscape behind them. Navigating the reality of Deafblindness is exhausting. There are days when mountains feel easier than the grief of losing more vision or hearing.
I’ve felt very welcomed by those around me. Many people have been patient, curious and willing to adapt. But the outdoors isn’t inherently accessible. It isn’t cheap to get involved even locally, much of the gear is still designed around male bodies and accessibility initiatives are treated as a bonus rather than as a basic expectation. I’ve been lucky to find the right people, but there’s still a long way to go.
So much of everyday life with vision loss is a negotiation – crossing a road, joining a gym class, even walking into a café. Accessibility often feels like an afterthought, and the responsibility falls on us to adapt, explain and advocate. It’s exhausting. But it’s also why I’m so committed to this project. Visibility matters and challenging people’s assumptions is a powerful way to push things forward.
The southwest has a mix of steep hills, muddy trails and great training facilities, so it’s been a solid base for everything from long runs to weighted pack climbs. It may be far from the Himalayas, but it’s given me strength, consistency and community, all of which matter just as much as altitude. I run with BathFitFam, climb at The Climbing Academy in Bristol and Chippenham, do altitude training at Thrive, build endurance with Roman Fitness Bath, and complete my strength and swim sessions at the Sports Training Village with Team Bath.
I was so confident on my recent Himlung expedition. I genuinely thought I was going to make the summit, but the winds were unsafe – no one summited that night. Ideally, I should still attempt a 7,000-metre peak before Everest. My mountaineering mentor advised me to consider Aconcagua now that the Himalayas are out of season. Although I didn’t reach the top, Himlung gave me the exposure I needed. I now know the conditions, how my body responds and how to adapt when things change quickly. The experience made me far more prepared for what’s ahead.
Support Caroline as she gears up for the final phase of her Everest expedition by sponsoring her, sharing her project and cheering her on.
Donate to Caroline’s crowdfunder at gofundme.com/f/deafblind-everest-project
Follow her journey @DeafBlindEverestProject and find out more at DeafBlindEverestProject.com
