High Altitude, High Stakes: The Perils of the Everest Trail
In the unforgiving Himalayas, Jessica’s trek to Everest Base Camp reveals the stark realities of high-altitude adventure. Amid breathtaking beauty and harsh conditions, the emotional and physical struggles of trekkers and porters alike come to light as the thin air carries stories of lost lives, environmental impact, and the unyielding spirit of those who dare to dream.
Himalayan winds slither through my down-insulated jacket and merino wool thermals. It is a core-numbing penetration that prickles my skin. Gasp. Pant. Puff. I crest a rocky hill to a dozen hunched porters huddled beside bulky duffle bags, finding reprieve. Something is off. The air is thick with a hushed quiet that contrasts with the usual chatter filling these intermittent rests. Punctuated only by fluttering prayer flags and the distant murmur of trekkers, the silence brims with unspoken emotions. It speaks volumes.
Behind the porters’ turned backs are scores of rock cairns and small stone structures. Assuming they are decorative or religious markers, I nod and trudge on. Santos—our sparkle-eyed porter carrying my 8 kg night bag along with another 12 kg for fellow travellers—gives a faint smile. Splat. A snowflake on my forehead. It should pirouette like a tiny crystal dancer, but it hits like a tiny missile that strikes me with the potent realisation of where I am. This is Thukla Pass. At 4830 metres above sea level, it is a memorial site for the 315 lives lost while attempting to summit Mount Everest. My travel buddy, Rory, talked about it yesterday. Located just two days from Everest Base Camp—our round-trip destination—its position is sobering.
Stories of the deceased howl across the barren landscape as I navigate the slippery maze of makeshift memorials, poignant tributes, and rugged terrain. Snow thickens. My vision obscures. The whiteout swirls with spectral echoes. I pause beside a memorial inscribed with a Shakespeare quote: dreams indeed are ambition, for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. My lungs burn. It is a constant struggle against the bitter and biting cold. As I press on with a fixed-upon-the-ground gaze, I cannot help but wonder—is the triumph of Everest really worth the cost?
Frozen Dreams. The first view of Mount Everest’s windswept summit in a plane from Bhutan.
(Photo by Jessica Cleverley)
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Lobuche, 4940 metres
The -17℃ cold gnaws at my bones as we huddle around a smoky wood-fire stove in a teahouse at Lobuche. The small settlement exists purely for trekkers en route to Everest. It is quaint and vehicle-free. I like it. The grassy tang of yak dung that fuels our humble fire mingles with the aroma of dhal, rice, and spices. Ice, rock, and snow replace forests, rivers, and suspension bridges. At this altitude, there is no pickled carrot and chutney included in the traditional Nepali cuisine. Everything is carried in by porters or yaks. This means that our small fire is lit for only two hours each night as chills seep into every crevice in a constant reminder of our inhospitable environment. The warmth of the fire offers a semblance of comfort, a fleeting respite from the unforgiving cold. Fuel is a delicacy.
Rory sits beside me, shivering and pale. His intoxicating enthusiasm to tick off the bucket list item of trekking to Everest Base Camp at twenty-five years-old while travelling on a one-way ticket dwindles. Altitude sickness descends upon him. With laboured breath, he struggles to force down the dhal. It’s been three days since he’s eaten properly. Our Nepali guide, Kumar, eyes him like a hawk while chatting with Santos in a hushed tone. I glance from Rory’s glassy eyes to his creased forehead as he swallows.
“Is Everest really covered in poop?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
Kumar’s concern breaks into an ice-melting laugh that offers a brief reprieve from the gravity of Rory’s condition. “Yahhh, Jessi. Lots of human waste…it’s not good.”
Santos, ever the picture of resilience, speaks Nepali to another porter. Four eyes crinkle. His friend translates. “Ten tonnes of human waste on Mount Everest, Miss.”
“Ten tonnes!? Well…” I gesture towards the dwindling flames. “Why don’t we use some for this?”
A German trekker chuckles. “Some of the…uh…natural resources on offer...”
Rory manages the ghost of a smile before his face contorts and he clutches his throbbing head. I place a comforting hand on his shoulder, silently wishing him relief.
“I volunteer as tribute!” I joke.
The environmental concerns surrounding the Everest climb are nothing to joke about, but it infuses some cheer. Human waste mixes with broken supplies, oxygen tanks and the highest-ever recorded sample of microplastics found on the last resting spot before reaching the summit. Even the trail here, littered with discarded plastic bottles, stands in stark contrast to pristine peaks. It is a reminder of the delicate balance between nature’s grandeur, human presence, and the need for sustainable practices.
As the last gasp of a dying ember flickers, shadows dance across the creaky wooden floors, evoking forgotten stories of departed souls that linger like a haunting melody. Outside, snow billows. With raised eyebrows, I observe the ankle-twisting blanket of crunchy peril. Kumar joins me. We stand in deafening silence. Tomorrow, we trek through it. Tomorrow, our ascent puts Rory at higher risk.
Serene beginnings. Before the ascent into ice and snow, trekkers enjoy lush scenes of forests, rivers, and suspension bridges.
(Photo by Jessica Cleverley)
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En route to Gorakshep, 5165 metres
Squelch. Squish. Slop. Skid. Slippery, sparkly snow. The frigid morning air is sharp in my lungs as we ascend. I amble with Kumar. Santos zooms ahead. Tilting his upper body forward, he balances our bags on his back with a sturdy strap secured around his forehead that utilises his centre of gravity to carry heavy loads. It is an incredible display of agility and strength as he navigates rugged terrain, steep inclines, and narrow trails.
In 2017, the Nepali government enforced weight restrictions for porters. The limit is around 35 kg for the Everest Base Camp trek. For Everest summit expeditions, it is 50-60 kg due to heavier gear required for high-altitude climbing. This is despite climbing becoming more difficult as altitude increases. For the Everest summit, a porter’s average wage is $15-$25 USD per day with additional bonuses for reaching certain checkpoints.
Usually, I keep pace with Santos. I am acclimatised to high altitude from a recent trek in Bhutan, but today we reach heights I have never climbed. The best way to avoid altitude sickness? Ascend slowly.
I glance at Rory, trudging behind with his head lowered. Ascending too fast is why he now struggles. The altitude doesn’t care for physical fitness or months of intense training. I can’t help but worry if he’ll make it. This journey means everything to him.
“Do you reckon he’ll be alright?”
“Rory? Yah…Rory, OK.” Kumar drags his next step as he pouts. “Altitude sickness…it have fri levels.”
A jangling cowbell forewarns of an incoming herd of woolly yaks laden with supplies. We clamber up a rocky incline to let the sturdy creatures pass. This is the ‘safe side’, uphill from the path. The other side drops precariously. Trekkers have occasionally fallen to their demise.
“What level does Rory have?”
One yak locks me in a slow, pensive gaze. Ironic. Yaks get reverse altitude sickness if descending below 3000 metres. I treasure and envy their ability to thrive in this harsh climate.
Kumar’s response is delayed “Rory, level one… Level one, okay, if careful. Headache, sick in stomach, maybe head spin. Like you drink a lot and become unwell.”
I chuckle.
“Level two is bad. Water in the lungs.”
“Water in the lungs?” I glance sideways at glistening snowfields stretching into the horizon. The harsh glare of the sun makes it difficult to discern the true scale of the frozen landscape.
“Yah, uhh…kinda.”
I later research that level two—High Altitude Pulmonary Edema—involves fluid build-up in the lungs due to altitude-induced physiological changes. Not water.
“Level fri…” He shakes his head slowly. “Level three is brain swelling. It need descent—"
Wuppa wuppa.
“in one—”
Chakk-chackk-chak-chak.
A helicopter cuts up Kumar’s words with a sense of urgency. Some ferry supplies to Base Camp. Others carry sick or injured humans. As rotor blades slice through wispy clouds, snow-capped peaks whisper of the dangers lurking amidst the awe-inspiring beauty.
When the whirring rotors decrescendo, Kumar murmurs, “Level three, descend in one hour.” He gestures to the disappearing helicopter and gulps. “It need that.”
Braving the ascent. Rory’s battle with altitude sickness is visible with every step, yet his spirit remains unbroken.
(Photo by Jessica Cleverley)
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Everest Base Camp, 5364 metres
The wind howls like a banshee, crystallising my breath to an eerie frost. Red letters on a large grey rock announce our arrival. EVEREST BASE CAMP. 5364m. In the distance, a pop-up city of yellow tents home hundreds of climbers, porters, expedition leaders and support teams preparing to summit. The end for us. The beginning for them. Tents, equipment, and facilities sprawl over several acres of rocky terrain draped in snow. For trekkers, there is this rock and two drop-toilet tents splattering poo into a crevice.
Rory’s grin is infectious as he strikes a pose by the rock.
“You’re here!” Kumar beams.
My chest oozes with warm nectar. He made it. Against all odds, he endured the agony of feeling like his head would explode.
After snapping a photo with Rory, I tug a second layer of gloves over my shivering hands and watch as misty tendrils swallow the once-pure sky.
“Right on time,” I mutter. Himalayan weather often changes around midday.
Ahead, a mammoth ice expanse cascades down the mountain like a frozen river.
Rory points excitedly at it. “Jess, look—that’s it, the Khumbu Icefall.”
I gape at the vast maze of towering seracs and deep crevasses, feeling a mixture of trepidation and awe as they seem to teeter on the brink of collapse.
In lower altitudes, Rory had described it as the most treacherous part of the climb. Seeing it now, I understand. The frost-laden monoliths creak and groan under their own weight, alive and shifting. One wrong step sentences mountaineers to a frozen grave.
While foreign climbers navigate the Icefall twice, local porters traverse it a staggering sixteen times each season. All while balancing heavy loads of food, equipment, and gear to build higher camps and forge a path ahead. In 2014, a tragic avalanche claimed the lives of sixteen porters in the Icefall and climbing closed for the season, fuelled by an outcry for improved wages and safety protocols for those who make the summit possible. Those often unacknowledged.
As a flurry of snow descends like feathers caught in a gusty breeze, I find myself in gratitude for Santos and Kumar. Rory lingers by the rock as Kumar snaps photos from different angles. I watch with a sense of detachment. Once a beacon of awe, the rock transforms into a weather-beaten guardian that dulls in the gathering storm. Every camera click adds to the anticlimax, weighing down my shoulders like a leaden shroud. The falling snow obscures the landscape, mirroring the disappointment hanging in the air like the scent of burnt dreams. Sighing in resignation, I turn and walk away. The weight of unfulfilled expectations presses down on me with each step.
My heart pounds like a drum as I navigate the icy path. It is a two-hour trek back to our paper-thin-walled accommodation. I press on. Head down, I discover depths of inner strength and resilience that I didn’t know I possessed.
Desperately trying to thaw my icicle fingers, I press my double-gloved hands against my mouth and exhale. Fleeting warmth. Relentless cold. No refuge from the Himalaya’s subzero grip. I quicken my steps, melancholy mingling with the biting cold as I reflect on the lives lost on Everest.
The statistics paint a grim picture. Deaths from exposure: 36. Falls: 57. Altitude sickness: 43. Avalanches: 81. Disappearances: 23. Khumbu Icefall: 23. Exhaustion: 21. Heart attacks: 14. Drowning: 2. Other: 8. Unknown: 7. (I later learn that 2023 becomes Everest’s second-most deadly season, after the 2015 earthquake that claimed thousands of lives nationwide.)
A sudden rush of wind slaps my skin. My world tilts. For a fleeting instant, I am weightless as the ground vanishes beneath my feet. Whack. Sharp pain shoots through my thigh as I crash onto the rugged trail.
Below me, jagged rocks scream for me to slow down. Despite being 2600 metres lower than the Death Zone—a mountaineering term for altitude above 8,000 meters, where oxygen pressure is insufficient to sustain human life—I feel my mortality in the face of nature’s unforgiving wrath.
Trails of resilience. Porters and yaks laden with supplies traverse the snowy expanse in a relentless march towards Everest Base Camp.
(Photo by Jessica Cleverley)
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Kala Patthar, 5545 metres
The sun sinks into the horizon, painting the surrounding summits with strokes of liquid light. Kumar and I stand atop Kala Patthar, a black stone ridge providing panoramic views of the world’s highest peak. Trekkers usually wake at 4 a.m. to catch the sunrise here after reaching Base Camp, but with Rory needing to descend, Kumar brought me here tonight. This is the trek’s highest point, the highest I’ve ever been. Shadows eclipse the valley below. Against the fiery canvas of the sky, the pyramid tip of Mount Everest glows with raw power and timeless beauty.
On Kala Patthar, I am enveloped in a profound sense of serenity and awe that I did not feel amidst the clamour of trekkers at Base Camp. There, the restless anticipation of leaving during a snowstorm rendered a sense of being one of many on a shared path. Here, the world spreads in an untouched vista under the sacred glow of the setting sun that blesses my journey. I am alone with the mountains. This is a peak experience not because of the altitude, but because of our silent communion with nature. Here, I find clarity, a quiet revelation, a stillness in my soul that sings the ancient secrets of the earth and sky.
I turn from the mesmerising tapestry of light to Kumar. “Would you ever summit Everest?”
Kumar laughs, his voice echoing through the crisp alpine air. He wipes his forehead as if brushing away the thought. "No way!” His warm charisma shines even in the sub-zero temperatures.
I imagine numbing winds scraping the summit, but ask anyway, “Why not?”
He tears his gaze from the drizzled-in-gold peak and rubs the back of his neck. “Very dangerous. Not so easy.”
One third of deaths on Everest are Nepali locals. I mourn the fact that over 200 bodies remain unrecovered on the mountain.
“Yeah…fair enough.”
The towering peaks stand like silent sentinels, their rugged profiles etched against heaven. To Sherpa locals, Everest is Sagarmatha ‘Goddess of the Sky’. To Tibetans, she is Chomolungma ‘Goddess Mother of the Earth’.
Pilgrimage to the world’s largest temple is both humbling and enlightening. To stand in the presence of ancient gods who have witnessed the passage of time itself.
Sunset serenade. Everest (middle back) and other towering summits bathing in the last light of day from Kala Patthar.
(Photo by Jessica Cleverley)
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Thukla Pass, 4830 metres
No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man. I pause amidst carefully balanced rock cairns, back at Thukla Pass. Crisp air fills my lungs like liquid fire. The mountains watch me with silent vigilance. I am but a speck of dust in the Himalaya’s vast expanse. Oddly, the realisation brings acceptance and peace. I am connected to all living things.
Prayer flags dance like fragmented rainbows, carrying blessings into the blue sky. They appear coarse and weathered, like sandpaper touched by the sun’s kiss and mountains’ breath, perhaps even shattered dreams. I reach out to touch their tattered edges. They glide through my fingertips with an unexpected smoothness, as if the mountains welcome me home. Maybe this is what death is like—a silky tactility that belies its rugged appearance.
Time seems to stand still as I dissolve into the blurred boundaries between the world and myself. Free from the blinding embrace of swirling snow, I am greeted with a vision of clarity.
The mountains, now serene giants, lie before me like peaceful bodies at rest.
Heaven’s graveyard. Icy peaks stretch out like ancient giants asleep under a blanket of ice.
(Photo by Jessica Cleverley)
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Essential Tips for Trekking to Everest Base Camp
Everest Base Camp is one of the most popular trekking routes in the Himalayas, with about 40,000 people making the trek each year.
Seasons: The best time to trek to Everest Base Camp is during the pre-monsoon (March to May) and post-monsoon (September to November) seasons, when the skies are clear and the weather is relatively stable.
Cost: The average cost of a trek to Everest Base Camp ranges from $1,000 to $1,500 USD per person, depending on the duration and route. It includes permits, meals, accommodation, and guide/porter fees. Tipping is additional.
Altitude: One of the notable aspects of the Everest Base Camp trek is that it begins in Lukla at an altitude of 2,860 meters above sea level. Starting at such high altitude increases the risk of altitude sickness. Acclimatization days throughout the trek are crucial.
Finding Treks: Numerous tour operators offer trek packages, both online and in Kathmandu. Research reputable companies and compare itineraries, services, and prices before booking. Alternatively, independent trekkers can arrange permits and accommodations themselves and hire local guides and porters as needed.
Guide Requirements: Recent laws in Nepal require trekkers to hire a licensed guide or porter for safety reasons. While this adds to the cost, it contributes to the livelihood of mountain communities. Ensure compliance with these regulations before embarking on your journey.
Trekking Permits: Obtain necessary permits, including the Sagarmatha National Park Entry Permit and the TIMS (Trekkers’ Information Management System) card, before starting your trek. Usually tour operators will do this for you.
Porters: Using a porter can lighten your load, making the trek more enjoyable and reducing the risk of altitude-related issues. It is essential to ensure that porters are treated ethically, paid fairly, and provided with adequate gear for their safety and comfort.
Additional Tips:
- Prepare physically for the trek by engaging in regular cardio and strength training exercises.
- Pack essential items such as warm clothing, sturdy hiking boots, sunscreen, water purification tablets, and a first-aid kit.
- Respect local customs and traditions, including environmental guidelines for waste disposal and cultural sensitivities.
Life at altitude. Local guide, Kumar Tamang (left) and porter, Santos Grangdan (right) have completed the Everest Base Camp trek twenty-one times.
(Photo by Jessica Cleverley)