Mt Everest Dead Bodies: How Many Are There and Why Can't They Be Removed?

Mount Everest-also known as Sagarmatha or Qomolangma-is the tallest mountain on Earth, rising to 8,848.86 meters (29,031.5 feet). For almost 100 years, it's been the ultimate goal for climbers, a true test of human strength and willpower. Reaching the top means standing on the highest point in the world, surrounded by views few people will ever see. But behind the stunning photos lies a brutal reality.

 

Everest is an extreme place, with freezing temperatures, deadly winds, and air so thin it's hard to breathe. Climbing it isn't just a hike-it's a fight to survive.

 

The danger of climbing Everest is most clearly seen in its saddest truth: many who tried to reach the top never made it back. Their bodies still lie on the mountain, especially in the "Death Zone" above 8,000 meters, where the air is too thin and the cold too harsh. These climbers are now part of the landscape-frozen in place, silent reminders of the risks. While the world cheers for those who succeed, Everest keeps the stories of those who didn't. It's believed that more than 200 bodies remain there, preserved by the freezing temperatures, guiding others along the same deadly path.

 

 

Early Expeditions and First Losses

Long before satellite phones gave weather updates at Base Camp or climbers lined up on fixed ropes, Mount Everest was a distant mystery. Locals respected it, but few outsiders had ever seen it up close. The mountain was protected by the rugged Himalayas and the political isolation of Nepal and Tibet.

 

In the early 1900s, Everest became a goal for Western explorers, driven by adventure and national pride. Since Nepal was closed to foreigners, the British approached from Tibet. Their first real effort came in 1921 with a reconnaissance expedition led by Charles Howard-Bury. The team mapped the area and scouted possible routes, reaching the North Col at about 7,000 meters (22,966 feet). It wasn't a summit attempt, but it showed the climb might be possible-and set the stage for future expeditions.

 

 

In 1922, the British Mount Everest expedition made the first real attempt to reach the summit. Climbers used early oxygen equipment-still new and controversial at the time-and managed to reach over 8,320 meters (27,300 feet). George Finch and Geoffrey Bruce led the way, showing that oxygen could be a game-changer. But the climb also brought tragedy. During a later push without oxygen, an avalanche struck near the North Col, killing seven Sherpa porters. It was the first recorded loss of life on an Everest climb and a harsh reminder of the mountain's dangers.

 

The most famous-and tragic-effort came in 1924. With more experience and determination, the British team aimed once again for the summit. Edward Norton reached an incredible 8,570 meters (28,126 feet) without oxygen, a record that stood for years. But the expedition is remembered most for George Mallory and Andrew Irvine. Mallory, already a veteran, teamed up with the younger Irvine for one last attempt on June 8th. Using improved oxygen sets, they were last seen by teammate Noel Odell, "going strong for the top," before disappearing into the clouds. They were never seen alive again.

 

Their disappearance sparked one of mountaineering's greatest mysteries: Did Mallory and Irvine reach the summit of Mount Everest nearly three decades before Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary? The debate has raged for generations. The discovery of Mallory's remarkably preserved body high on the North Face in 1999 by the Mallory and Irvine Research Expedition provided poignant clues - goggles in his pocket suggesting a possible fall in fading light, the absence of a photograph of his wife Ruth which he intended to leave on the summit - but no definitive proof of a successful ascent. Irvine's body, and the Vest Pocket Kodak camera they carried, which might hold photographic evidence, remain undiscovered. Regardless of whether they reached the top, their bold attempt and tragic end cemented their place in Everest lore and highlighted the extreme risks involved.

 

Following the 1924 tragedy and subsequent political shifts, major attempts on Everest ceased for several years. World War II intervened, and Tibet eventually closed its borders. The focus shifted when Nepal opened its doors to foreign expeditions in the early 1950s, revealing the southern approach via the Khumbu Icefall and the Western Cwm. Swiss expeditions in 1952 pioneered this route, with Raymond Lambert and Tenzing Norgay reaching a record height on the Southeast Ridge, just shy of 8,600 meters (28,215 feet), before being forced back by exhaustion and malfunctioning oxygen sets. Their near success paved the way for the 1953 British expedition.

 

On May 29th, 1953, the New Zealander Edmund Hillary and the Nepali Sherpa Tenzing Norgay stood triumphantly on the summit, having conquered Everest via the Southeast Ridge. Their success, announced to the world on the day of Queen Elizabeth II's coronation, was a global sensation.

 

But Everest was far from conquered. In the years that followed, climbers from around the world chased new milestones-first ascents by women, climbs without oxygen, and bold new routes. With these achievements came growing risks and more deaths. Everest's slopes slowly filled with the stories-and bodies-of those who never came back, each one a reminder of the mountain's enduring danger.

 

Understanding Mortality on Everest

The historic ascent by Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay in 1953 turned Everest from a mythical goal into a real, though still dangerous, possibility. Since then, thousands have attempted the climb, drawn by the challenge and allure of the world's highest peak. But Everest remains deadly. To understand why, we need to look beyond the extreme altitude and consider a mix of environmental hazards, physical stress, and human error.

 

Climbing Everest has never been risk-free. By the end of the 2024 season, more than 335 people had died on the mountain-edging toward 340 with early reports from 2025. While the rate of death has dropped over the years-falling from about 1.6% (1990-2005) to around 1% (2006-2019)-the rising number of climbers means the total fatalities remain high.

 

Certain seasons stand out:

• 1996: A deadly storm claimed 15 lives, later detailed in Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air.

• 2014: An avalanche in the Khumbu Icefall killed 16 Nepali guides.

• 2015: A devastating earthquake triggered an avalanche at Base Camp, killing 18.

• 2023: The deadliest year on record with 17-18 deaths, blamed on overcrowding, harsh weather, and bad timing.

• 2024: Deaths dropped to 9 (6 confirmed, 3 missing), but still higher than many earlier years.

• 2025 (so far): Already 5 confirmed Everest deaths this spring, with others on neighboring Lhotse-proof the danger hasn't gone away.

 

People die on Everest due to a combination of extreme environmental conditions, physical stress, and human error. Avalanches, especially in areas like the Khumbu Icefall, can strike without warning, while steep, icy terrain makes falls a constant risk-particularly during descent when climbers are exhausted. The thin air leads to altitude sickness, including life-threatening conditions like HAPE and HACE, which can strike quickly and fatally. Exposure to severe cold and wind causes hypothermia and frostbite, often worsened by delays or poor weather. Equipment failures, hidden health issues, and critical decision-making errors-such as ignoring turnaround times or unclipping from safety ropes-also contribute. On Everest, even small mistakes can have deadly consequences.

 

The "Death Zone"

The term "Death Zone," typically referring to altitudes above 8,000 meters (26,247 feet), is not hyperbole. In this rarefied atmosphere, the available oxygen is roughly one-third of that at sea level. Human physiology is simply not designed to function, let alone survive for extended periods, under such conditions. Acclimatization, the process by which the body adapts to lower oxygen levels, effectively ceases above this altitude. Instead, the body begins to actively deteriorate.

 

Breathing becomes incredibly laborious, even at rest. Sleep offers little respite and is often plagued by periodic breathing (Cheyne-Stokes respiration). Cognitive function suffers significantly; climbers report confusion, difficulty with simple calculations, hallucinations, and poor decision-making. Physical coordination degrades, increasing the risk of stumbles and falls. Digestion slows, making it hard to refuel. The risk of HAPE, HACE, frostbite, and hypothermia skyrockets.

 

Most climbers rely heavily on supplemental oxygen in the Death Zone. Bottled oxygen increases the effective altitude, making it feel lower and less debilitating, but it does not eliminate the danger. It cannot replicate sea-level pressure, and the body still endures immense stress. Furthermore, oxygen systems can fail, run out unexpectedly, or masks can freeze. A sudden loss of supplemental oxygen at extreme altitude can be catastrophic.

 

Time is the critical factor. Climbers aim to spend as little time as possible in the Death Zone, typically making a summit push from the highest camp (around 7,900-8,000 meters) and returning within 12-18 hours. Delays due to weather, slow pace, exhaustion, or traffic jams dramatically increase the exposure time and, consequently, the risk of a fatal outcome. It is a realm where the margin for error is virtually non-existent, and the mountain offers little forgiveness.

 

Why Bodies Remain on Everest

The stark reality that over two hundred individuals lie entombed on the slopes of Mount Everest often prompts a difficult question: why are they not brought down? The answer lies in a harsh confluence of extreme environmental conditions, formidable logistical hurdles, prohibitive costs, and the sheer, undeniable danger involved in any recovery attempt, particularly from the upper reaches of the mountain.

 

Nature's Deep Freeze

The primary reason bodies remain is the environment itself. Above the South Col, and especially within the Death Zone, temperatures rarely rise above freezing, even during the warmest part of the climbing season. In the shade or during the long winter months, they plummet to levels that halt decomposition almost entirely. The extreme cold and dry air effectively mummify remains, preserving them in the state they were in at the time of death. While this preservation offers potential clues for identification or understanding the circumstances of death (as in Mallory's case), it also means the bodies become frozen solid, often fused to the ice and rock of the mountain itself. A human body, already heavy, becomes an inert, frozen mass weighing significantly more due to accumulated ice, making extraction incredibly difficult.

 

The Logistical and Physical Nightmare of Recovery

Attempting to recover a body from high altitude on Everest is an operation fraught with peril, demanding immense resources and manpower. It is not a task undertaken lightly. Consider the location: many bodies lie within the Death Zone, an environment where even the fittest climbers struggle to survive for mere hours, let alone perform strenuous physical labor.

 

A typical recovery operation requires a dedicated team, usually composed of highly skilled Sherpas - often between six and ten individuals - specifically trained for such missions. These rescuers must ascend through the same hazardous terrain, including the Khumbu Icefall and the Lhotse Face, exposing themselves to avalanches, falls, and extreme altitude for an extended period. The work itself is grueling: chipping away ice, carefully freeing the body, securing it onto a specialized stretcher or into a body bag, and then beginning the arduous process of lowering it down treacherous slopes. Maneuvering a heavy, awkward load down steep ice, across crevasses, and over rock bands requires exceptional skill, strength, and coordination. A single misstep could be fatal not only for the recovery team but could also further endanger other climbers on the route.

 

The window for such operations is narrow, confined to the brief pre-monsoon climbing season when weather conditions are relatively stable. Even then, sudden storms can halt efforts, forcing teams to retreat and potentially abandon the recovery.

 

 

The Prohibitive Cost

Beyond the physical danger, the financial cost of a high-altitude recovery mission is staggering. Expenses include paying the highly specialized Sherpa team (who command premium wages for such dangerous work, and rightly so), purchasing large quantities of supplemental oxygen for the team, specialized recovery equipment, multiple permits, logistical support including food and base camp facilities, and potentially helicopter fees for transport lower down the mountain (helicopters cannot typically operate safely near the summit but can assist from Camp 2 or Base Camp). Estimates for a single recovery operation from the Death Zone range widely but often fall between US 30,000andUS30,000 and US 30,000andUS70,000, and can sometimes exceed $100,000 depending on the complexity and location. This cost is often beyond the means of grieving families, and insurance policies rarely cover such specialized recovery efforts.

 

The Silent Landmarks

Over time, some of the unrecovered bodies, particularly those located close to the main climbing routes, have become unintended and somber landmarks. Perhaps the most famous is "Green Boots," located in a small rock alcove below the summit on the Northeast Ridge route (Tibet side). Widely believed to be the body of Tsewang Paljor, an Indian climber who perished in the 1996 disaster, his distinctive green Koflach climbing boots made him easily identifiable to passing climbers for years. His presence served as a stark reminder of the proximity of death near the summit.

Another well-known case is that of Hannelore Schmatz, a German climber who died during her descent in 1979 on the South Col route.

 

For several years, her body remained seated against her backpack, frozen in place, a visible marker for climbers approaching the upper mountain until winds eventually swept her remains further down the Kangshung Face. The tragic death of British climber David Sharp in 2006, near Green Boots' alcove, sparked controversy when it emerged that numerous climbers reportedly passed him while he was still alive but incapacitated, highlighting the ethical dilemmas faced at extreme altitude where survival instincts can override rescue impulses.

 

While these landmarks are part of Everest's grim folklore, their presence is deeply unsettling for many. They represent not just statistics, but individuals with families, dreams, and stories cut short. The confluence of extreme danger, logistical impossibility, and immense cost means that for many who perish on Everest's highest slopes, the mountain becomes their final, frozen tomb.

 

Rainbow Valley: Everest's Open Air Graveyard

One specific area tragically exemplifies the accumulation of bodies on Everest: the so-called "Rainbow Valley." This is not an officially named geographical feature but rather a grim nickname given by climbers to an area below the Northeast Ridge route, primarily on the Tibetan side, situated deep within the Death Zone above 8,000 meters. The name derives from the multicolored climbing gear - bright down suits, tents, oxygen bottles - adorning the bodies of climbers who have fallen or perished in this section. From a distance, the scattered colors against the stark white snow create a macabre rainbow effect.

 

Rainbow Valley serves as an unintentional graveyard largely due to the terrain and circumstances of death at extreme altitude. The final sections of the Northeast Ridge are narrow and exposed. When climbers collapse or die on the route, particularly during descent, they may be moved aside by subsequent climbers needing to pass, or they may fall down the steep slopes below. The area beneath the ridge thus becomes a repository for those who succumb nearby. Its existence is a stark illustration of the high fatality rate in the Death Zone and the practical impossibility of recovering most bodies from such treacherous, high-altitude locations.

 

Ethical Summits: Debates on Dignity and Danger

The enduring presence of over 200 bodies on Mount Everest forces a confrontation with profound ethical questions that resonate far beyond the climbing community. It pits the deep-seated human desire to afford dignity to the dead and provide closure for grieving families against the brutal realities of an environment where survival is paramount and rescue attempts carry lethal risks. There are no easy answers on these slopes, only difficult choices weighed in the thin, unforgiving air.

 

The core dilemma revolves around the conflict between respecting the deceased and safeguarding the living. For families thousands of miles away, the knowledge that a loved one lies frozen and exposed on the world's highest peak can be a source of unending anguish. The natural impulse is to bring them home, to provide a proper burial or cremation, to have a place to mourn. This desire for repatriation and closure is a powerful emotional and cultural imperative for many.

 

However, this desire clashes directly with the extreme danger involved in high-altitude recovery. Is it ethically justifiable to risk the lives of multiple rescuers - often Sherpas, who already bear a disproportionate share of the risks on Everest - to retrieve a body? Many experienced mountaineers, including Sherpas themselves, argue that risking more lives to recover someone already deceased is difficult to rationalize, especially in the Death Zone. The mountain has already claimed its victim; attempting a recovery could multiply the tragedy. Some climbers even express wishes, communicated to family or friends beforehand, that should they perish high on the mountain, they would prefer to remain there, accepting it as a consequence of pursuing their passion in such an extreme place.

 

Perspectives vary widely. Some families have mounted extraordinary efforts, raising substantial funds and commissioning private recovery teams, driven by the need to bring their loved ones home. These missions, when successful, provide immense relief and closure, but they are the exception rather than the rule, often limited to bodies located at lower, more accessible altitudes or in specific circumstances. Conversely, other families accept the harsh reality, finding solace in the idea that their loved one remains in the place they felt most alive, albeit in death.

The climbing community itself is divided. Some feel the presence of bodies detracts from the experience and serves as a morbid distraction, advocating for removal where feasible. Others view the bodies as solemn reminders of the mountain's power and the risks inherent in the pursuit, accepting them as part of the Everest landscape. The Sherpa community, deeply connected to the mountain both spiritually and economically, often holds nuanced views. While respecting the dead, their primary focus is understandably on the safety of current expeditions and their own community members. They are typically the ones called upon to undertake the perilous recovery tasks, bearing the direct physical and emotional burden.

Notable recovery efforts, though rare at extreme altitudes, have occurred. Sometimes, bodies are moved away from the main route to less visible locations out of respect. Organized clean-up campaigns, primarily focused on removing the tons of accumulated garbage (oxygen bottles, tents, food wrappers), occasionally encounter and retrieve bodies, particularly at lower camps or more accessible areas. In recent years, there has been increased discussion within Nepal's government and mountaineering associations about managing the issue, though implementing effective, safe, and affordable solutions remains elusive. Proposals sometimes surface regarding mandatory insurance for body recovery or government-led initiatives, but the logistical and financial barriers remain immense.

The ethical landscape of Everest is as treacherous as its icy slopes. It forces a constant negotiation between human values of dignity, respect, and closure, and the mountain's stark indifference to those values. Each body remaining on the peak represents not just a logistical challenge, but a complex ethical knot tied by ambition, tragedy, and the lethal beauty of the world's highest mountain.

 

The Human Cost: Stories from the Slopes

Behind the staggering statistics and ethical debates lie individual human stories - narratives of immense courage, unwavering determination, heartbreaking loss, and sometimes, miraculous survival. These stories transform the abstract numbers into tangible realities, reminding us that every person who attempts Everest carries hopes, dreams, and connections to loved ones back home. Focusing on a few specific accounts helps to illustrate the profound human cost associated with the pursuit of the world's highest summit.

 

The 1996 Everest disaster remains one of the most documented and analyzed tragedies on the mountain. Experienced guides Rob Hall of Adventure Consultants and Scott Fischer of Mountain Madness led commercial expeditions that were caught in a sudden, ferocious blizzard high on the mountain during their descent from the summit. Hall, having waited for a struggling client, contacted his pregnant wife Jan Arnold via satellite phone from the South Summit, a poignant and final conversation before succumbing to the elements. Fischer, a renowned and immensely strong climber, collapsed during the descent and could not be revived by rescuers. Their deaths, along with those of several clients and another guide, highlighted the vulnerability of even the most experienced mountaineers and the thin margins for survival when conditions turn hostile in the Death Zone. Jon Krakauer's "Into Thin Air" and Anatoli Boukreev's "The Climb" offer differing but powerful perspectives on the events of that tragic season.

 

Survival stories, though less common in the headlines, are equally potent testaments to human resilience. Beck Weathers, a client on Rob Hall's 1996 expedition, was left for dead twice during the storm after collapsing from hypothermia and near-blindness. Miraculously, he regained consciousness and stumbled back into Camp IV, severely frostbitten but alive. His subsequent rescue and recovery, despite losing his nose, right hand, and fingers on his left hand, is a stunning tale of endurance against impossible odds.

 

More recently, the story of Lincoln Hall, an Australian climber who summited in 2006 but collapsed during his descent and was declared dead, offers another incredible example. Left on the mountain, he was discovered alive the next morning by another climbing team led by guide Dan Mazur. Despite suffering from cerebral edema and severe frostbite, Hall was assisted down the mountain in a remarkable rescue effort, ultimately surviving his ordeal, though he later passed away from an unrelated illness. These stories underscore the unpredictable nature of survival at extreme altitude and the critical role that chance encounters and the willingness of others to help can play.

 

The narrative of Everest cannot be told without acknowledging the central role and disproportionate risk borne by the Sherpa community. For generations, Sherpas have been the backbone of Himalayan mountaineering, renowned for their physiological adaptation to high altitude, climbing expertise, and immense strength. They fix the ropes, carry the loads, guide the clients, and are often the first responders in rescue situations. While statistics show their summit success rates are high, they also face constant exposure to objective dangers, particularly in the Khumbu Icefall. The 2014 avalanche, which killed 16 Nepali workers (mostly Sherpas), brought global attention to the risks they undertake, often for wages significantly lower than their Western counterparts. Figures like Apa Sherpa and Kami Rita Sherpa, who have summited Everest over 20 times each, represent incredible feats of endurance, but their success is built upon countless perilous journeys. Their perspective often blends deep spiritual reverence for Sagarmatha with the economic necessity of the climbing industry, a complex relationship shaped by both opportunity and tragedy.

 

For every climber who attempts Everest, there is a network of family and friends waiting anxiously below. The impact of a death on the mountain ripples outwards, leaving behind grief, unanswered questions, and financial hardship, especially for Sherpa families who may lose their primary breadwinner. The stories of spouses receiving final satellite phone calls, children growing up without a parent, and families grappling with the decision of whether or not to attempt a costly and dangerous recovery effort are an integral, though often unseen, part of the human cost of Everest. These personal tragedies ground the pursuit of the summit in a profound human context, reminding us that the price of ambition can be devastatingly high.

 

 

Famous Deceased Climbers on Everest: Stories Behind the Landmarks

Over the years, some of the individuals who perished on Everest have become well-known, partly due to their location near climbing routes, the circumstances of their deaths, or subsequent media attention. Their stories serve as powerful, albeit tragic, reminders of the mountain's dangers and the human element behind the statistics.

 

Green Boots

Perhaps the most famous "landmark" body was "Green Boots," located in a rock alcove below the summit on the Northeast Ridge route. For years, climbers passed the body, easily identifiable by the distinctive green Koflach boots. It is widely believed, though never definitively confirmed, to be the remains of Tsewang Paljor, an Indian climber from the Indo-Tibetan Border Police who was part of a team caught in the 1996 blizzard. He and two partners became separated from the team during the storm and perished. For nearly two decades, Green Boots served as a stark marker of altitude and proximity to the summit. Reports suggest the body was moved or covered sometime around 2014-2017, making it less visible, though the legend persists.

 

Sleeping Beauty (Francys Arsentiev)

Francys Arsentiev earned the tragic nickname "Sleeping Beauty" after her death in 1998. An American, she achieved her goal of becoming the first US woman to summit Everest without supplemental oxygen, alongside her husband Sergei Arsentiev. However, during their descent in the dark, they became separated. Sergei made it back to camp but, realizing Francys was missing, went back to search for her, tragically falling to his death (his body was found years later). Francys was found alive but severely incapacitated the next morning by an Uzbek team, and later by climbers Ian Woodall and Cathy O'Dowd, who spent time with her but were ultimately unable to rescue her due to the extreme conditions and her deteriorating state. Her body remained visible on the Northeast Ridge route for years, near where she was last seen. Woodall later led an expedition in 2007 to respectfully move her body to a less exposed location and cover it with an American flag.

 

George Mallory & Sandy Irvine

The mystery surrounding George Mallory and Andrew "Sandy" Irvine, who disappeared high on the Northeast Ridge during their 1924 summit attempt, remains one of mountaineering's most enduring enigmas. As detailed earlier, their final sighting left open the possibility they may have reached the summit 29 years before Hillary and Tenzing. Mallory's remarkably preserved body was discovered in 1999, offering clues but no definitive answers. Irvine's body, and the camera they carried which might hold photographic proof, have never been found, fueling ongoing speculation and searches. Their story represents the pioneering spirit and ultimate sacrifice of early Everest exploration.

 

Scott Fischer

A charismatic and highly accomplished American guide, Scott Fischer was the leader of the Mountain Madness expedition during the infamous 1996 disaster. Known for his boundless energy and experience on high peaks, Fischer successfully guided clients to the summit but became severely ill, possibly with HACE or HAPE exacerbated by exhaustion, during the descent as the storm hit. He collapsed on the Balcony (around 8,400m) and, despite efforts by his Sherpas and later Anatoli Boukreev, could not be moved further down. He died on the mountain, one of the high-profile casualties of the storm, leaving a significant legacy in the world of commercial guiding.

 

David Sharp

The death of British climber David Sharp in 2006 generated significant controversy and ethical debate. Attempting a solo climb without supplemental oxygen (though reports vary on his exact oxygen usage), Sharp apparently summited but collapsed inside "Green Boots' cave" during his descent. Reportedly, dozens of climbers passed him as he lay dying, with few offering substantial assistance. While some accounts suggest he was unresponsive or waved climbers off, others questioned the morality of passing a clearly incapacitated climber without mounting a significant rescue effort. Sir Edmund Hillary famously condemned the actions, stating, "I think the whole attitude towards climbing Mount Everest has become rather horrifying." Sharp's death highlighted the phenomenon sometimes termed "summit fever" and the difficult ethical choices faced in the Death Zone.

 

Hannelore Schmatz

A German climber, Hannelore Schmatz became the fourth woman to summit Everest in October 1979, but tragically, she also became the first woman to die on its upper slopes. Exhausted after a long summit day and caught out by darkness during the descent with her husband Gerhard Schmatz (the expedition leader) and American climber Ray Genet, they were forced to bivouac near the South Summit without adequate shelter or oxygen. Genet died during the night. Despite urgings from their Sherpa guides to continue down, Hannelore sat down to rest just 100 meters above Camp IV, said "Water, Water," and died. Her body, frozen in a seated position leaning against her backpack, remained a macabre landmark on the South Col route for many years until it was eventually swept over the Kangshung Face by high winds.

 

Rob Hall

Another key figure from the 1996 disaster, Rob Hall was a highly respected New Zealand guide and co-founder of Adventure Consultants, one of the leading commercial expedition companies. Known for his meticulous planning and safety record, Hall reached the summit but delayed his descent waiting for a struggling client, Doug Hansen. Caught in the sudden blizzard, Hansen collapsed and died. Hall, suffering severe frostbite and hypoxia, managed to reach the South Summit but could descend no further. He survived a night exposed in the storm and made poignant final radio calls, including one patched through to his pregnant wife, Jan Arnold, in New Zealand, before dying high on the mountain. His body remains near the South Summit, a testament to his dedication to his clients and the brutal power of the mountain.

 

Shriya Shah-Klorfine

A Nepalese-born Canadian businesswoman, Shriya Shah-Klorfine died in 2012 during her descent from the summit. Reports indicated she was relatively inexperienced for such a climb and spent a very long time reaching the summit, reportedly exhausting her oxygen supply. She collapsed on the descent, and despite pleas of "Save me" to passing Sherpas, she could not be rescued due to her condition and the dangerous location within the Death Zone. Her death highlighted concerns about inexperienced climbers attempting Everest and the potential dangers of overcrowding contributing to slow progress. Her body was later recovered from the mountain at great expense.

 

 

Everest Today and Tomorrow

 

Mount Everest in 2025 is a far cry from the remote challenge of decades past. While the risks remain real, climbing the world's highest peak has been transformed by commercialization, better technology, and climate change. Today, hundreds of climbers attempt the summit each spring, supported by commercial expeditions that offer everything from Sherpa guides and fixed ropes to oxygen systems and heated base camps.

Modern advancements have raised success rates-around two-thirds of climbers above Base Camp now summit-but have also introduced new challenges. Crowding during narrow summit windows causes dangerous bottlenecks, particularly in the Death Zone above 8,000 meters. Delays here can be fatal, especially as climbers run low on oxygen. Some now use advanced gas mixtures, including xenon, in experimental systems aimed at enhancing oxygen delivery or reducing hypoxia, though such use is limited and still under study.

Climate change is reshaping the mountain. Melting ice is exposing more rock, increasing the risk of rockfalls and route instability. The Khumbu Icefall is becoming more unpredictable, and events like the 2024 summit cornice collapse-which claimed two lives-may be linked to warming temperatures.

Nepal continues to issue high numbers of permits (468 for Everest in spring 2025), despite safety concerns. New rules-like mandatory tracking devices-have had mixed results. Fatalities remain a sobering reality, with at least five reported on Everest by late May this year.