By John Q. Hosedrinker 
A Sherpa guide, missing for a week on Mount Everest, was discovered alive and crawling towards base camp. Dawa Sherpa was located by a cleaning crew in the Khumbu Icefall and subsequently airlifted to a hospital for treatment. This remarkable rescue occurred during the busiest climbing season on Everest, which experienced delays due to an ice block on the route. Sherpa, a seasoned guide, had been descending the mountain with a client when he disappeared near the end of the season.
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A Sherpa guide, missing for a full week on Mount Everest, was miraculously rescued while crawling towards base camp, a testament to his incredible resilience and the inherent dangers of the world’s highest peak. This dramatic turn of events, thankfully resulting in a happy ending, has brought to light the immense risks these guides undertake daily, often for little recognition. The sheer act of crawling down the mountain after a week-long disappearance underscores the extraordinary physical and mental fortitude required to survive such an ordeal. It’s a stark reminder of the risks these guides take as a profession, a living, breathing embodiment of the phrase “built different,” with their physiology seemingly capable of enduring what the average person simply couldn’t fathom.
The narrative surrounding the guide’s disappearance and subsequent rescue raises significant questions about the circumstances that led to his being left behind. While the focus is on his incredible survival, a crucial piece of the story that remains somewhat unclear is why the climbers he was accompanying returned to base camp without him. Were they separated due to the harsh conditions, or was there an instance of abandonment? The fact that he was found so close to base camp, having essentially rescued himself, makes the thought of a tragic outcome even more painful, highlighting the importance of a positive resolution. It’s a relief to know he was found, especially considering the vital role Sherpas play in Everest expeditions.
This season has seen five climbers and guides perish on Everest, making this Sherpa’s survival all the more remarkable. His struggle back down the mountain, even in a crawling state, puts into sharp perspective the perilous nature of his job. It’s a profession where the line between life and death is incredibly fine, and survival often depends on extraordinary human capacity. The immediate reaction upon his discovery, likely a mix of shock and immense relief, would have been an exclamation of, “We were just about to go looking for you!” This simple phrase encapsulates the close calls and near misses that are a constant reality for those who navigate the treacherous slopes of Everest.
There’s a poignant contrast to be drawn between the Sherpa’s harrowing ordeal and the often-criticized culture surrounding some Everest ascents. The image of Sherpas being used to literally carry paying climbers to the summit, the subsequent littering of the mountain, and the superficial sense of accomplishment some climbers seem to derive from these experiences, paints a rather bleak picture. It leads to a feeling that perhaps Everest, with its increasing congestion and the environmental impact of its popularity, should be managed more like a national park with significantly stricter access controls. While tourism revenue is important, it could potentially be redirected through different channels and attract a different kind of visitor, one with a greater appreciation for the mountain and its preservation.
The whole situation smacks of a “shit show,” to put it mildly, and it’s enough to make one shy away from mountain climbing altogether. Between incidents like this and the reported breakdowns in relationships on the mountain, it’s easy to view the community of extreme mountain climbers as a group that can be remarkably selfish, showing little regard for human life, and certainly not for the lives of those who enable their ascents. It is commendable, however, that he is being recognized as a guide, a professional, and not simply as a “mountain slave,” a term that sadly hints at the historical exploitation of Sherpas.
A significant point of contention arises when considering the search efforts. Was a genuine attempt made to find him before his own remarkable journey back to safety? Some accounts suggest that the climber who was with the Sherpa instructed him to go ahead while he would catch up, a decision that proved to be critical. They were running extremely late for their summit push, and adverse weather conditions were setting in. While a helicopter was deployed to search, it tragically failed to spot him. Adding to the sense of unease, there was a delay in notifying anyone that a Sherpa was actually missing. This points towards a substantial amount of negligence on multiple fronts.
It’s speculated that the helicopter might have been searching at a higher altitude, potentially missing him as he was lower down the mountain. He was with only one other person, making the scenario of a missed sighting all the more plausible. The company that employed him also faced criticism for not immediately alerting authorities to his disappearance. Furthermore, the customers who had made it back to base camp also did not raise an immediate alarm. This chain of inaction and delayed communication appears to have been a significant factor in the extended period he remained missing.
The Sherpa reportedly fell into a crevasse and was trapped for two days, adding another layer of peril to an already precarious situation. Their summit bid was excessively late, occurring just hours before the mountain was scheduled to close for the season, meaning very few people were still traversing the routes and could have noticed his plight. The combination of bad weather, a delayed summit, and the subsequent accident paints a picture of a series of unfortunate decisions and circumstances that could have easily led to a fatality. The stark reality of the situation can be imagined through a grim hypothetical: “You seen Brian get back from taking that group up?” “Haven’t seen him but who cares, Brian is a dick.” “Agreed but should we look for him?” “Nah, fuck that guy.” followed by Brian crawling into camp three, on the brink of death, only to be met with exclamations of surprise and relief. It’s the perceived lack of concern from some quarters that is truly disheartening.
The company he worked for failed to take action for a staggering six days, a period during which he was undoubtedly fighting for his life. It’s concerning that the story doesn’t fully detail the sequence of events, especially given how long the client had been back, raising questions about the completeness of the reporting itself. However, it’s important to acknowledge that leaving people behind is an accepted risk within high-altitude mountaineering circles. What is truly concerning, though, is the perceived disparity in how the lives of Sherpas are valued compared to those of the paying climbers. While they are among the highest-paid individuals in Nepal, their earnings are still significantly lower than those of Western guides for comparable risks and work.
The debate about Sherpa compensation is complex. While the money they earn may be substantially more than the average Nepalese wage, it’s crucial to consider the immense risks they undertake for relatively short periods of work. The disparity between their earnings and those of Western guides performing the same dangerous job is evident, suggesting a systemic issue of underpayment. Despite making more than the average Nepali, who might be working in less hazardous conditions, the proportional risk they face for their income is still considerably higher. This imbalance highlights a troubling aspect of the Everest climbing industry, where those who are most essential to the expedition’s success are not always compensated equitably for the dangers they confront.
The argument that Sherpas make good money compared to the average Nepali working in a sweatshop, while perhaps statistically true in absolute terms, misses the point of the immense danger involved. Even if they earn more than the average national income, the risk-to-reward ratio for Sherpas is arguably far steeper than for Western guides, who command significantly higher fees for the same dangerous work. This comparison often leads to complacency and an acceptance of exploitation. The sheer volume of trash, discarded waste, and even bodies left on Everest is a sobering indictment of the current state of affairs. The mountain has, for many, devolved into a place for people to obtain selfies and a superficial sense of achievement, overshadowing its natural majesty and the respect it commands.
Ultimately, this Sherpa’s survival is a powerful narrative of human endurance. It shines a spotlight on the vital contributions of Sherpas to Everest expeditions and raises important questions about safety protocols, corporate responsibility, and the ethical treatment of guides in the high-altitude climbing industry. While his personal journey back from the brink is a triumph, it also serves as a somber reminder of the inherent dangers and systemic issues that persist on the world’s most iconic mountain. His midichlorian count, as one might humorously put it, was clearly off the charts, enabling him to cheat death and crawl back towards civilization. This event underscores the fact that while many people dream of conquering Everest, it is often the Sherpas who embody true mountaineering spirit, facing down its challenges day after day, with a resilience that is truly awe-inspiring.