More money for oxygen, greater safety: Why the business of climbing Mt Everest is a slippery slope

At 7pm on May 16, 2023, Keval Kakka reached Camp 4 on the South Col of Everest. He had stood at the same spot in 2019 and had continued onwards to the summit. Five days later, he also climbed neighbouring Lhotse, the fourth highest mountain in the world.

However, this time around, he had been delayed by an unwell climber and had reached the final camp at a late hour. Those who had arrived earlier in the day had already set off on their summit push; others bustled around him making their final preparations.

Kakka decided to catch some rest before heading out. But when he peeked out of his tent a short while later, he saw a series of head lamps above him, strung together like a necklace.

“Not much wind that night, really nice. There were maybe 200 climbers going for the top,” he recalls.

The altitude muddled his thoughts. Though he had been on the summit before, he longed to stand there again. But experience told him that a successful climb was all about walking into base camp, safe.

“It had been one of the coldest seasons on Everest and my fingers were getting numb. I would have to queue up behind all those climbers ahead of me and getting past them would be a task. And I know getting frostbitten isn’t worth it,” Kakka says.

He reflected on all the moments from his previous climbs. Soon he had arrived at his decision. At first light, he descended back to Camp 2.
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May 29, 1953, is an important day in mountaineering history. It’s when Tenzing Norgay and Edmund Hillary first climbed Everest, 70 years ago. Their life changed overnight, much like it does for anyone who gets to the summit today - but more.

However, those were simpler times, when the big mountains saw a handful of teams. For instance, in the spring of 1988 when Stephen Venables reached the summit, there were just four teams on Everest.

All that changed once commercial expeditions took off in the '90s. According to the Himalayan Database, 37 expeditions were on Everest in the spring climbing season of 1999; two decades since, that figure was at 92.

Climbing suffered due to the Covid-19 pandemic, but has picked up since. For Spring 2023, Nepal’s Department of Tourism issued a record 478 permits for Everest and collected USD 5.09 million as royalty; last year, 325 permits were issued and USD 3.4 million was earned.

But what’s alarming is the casualties on the mountain this season. As of May 27, the Himalayan Times reported 12 dead climbers and five others missing. In 2014, 17 climbers were killed when an avalanche struck the Khumbu Icefall.

“This is Everest, the height is formidable, and you have to respect it. And there are inexperienced climbers on the mountain. No matter how much support you buy, at the end of the day, it’s you who has to function at altitude,” says Anindya Mukherjee, a mountaineer and explorer from Kolkata.

Mukherjee has a lot of climbing experience in the Indian Himalayas under his belt - he has scaled mountains such as Kamet (7,756m), Nanda Devi East (7,434m) and Trisul I (7,120m). But he has steered clear of the 8,000ers in Nepal so far. For one, he’s unsure of how things would pan out with so many people on the mountain; besides, it takes a lot of money.

An Everest permit costs about USD 11,000 (INR 9.08 lakh). Mountain chronicler Alan Arnette writes that most people pay between USD 40,000-50,000 (INR 33-41 lakh) and as high as USD 160,000 (INR 1.32 crore) for a shot at Everest, the cost adding up with each item of comfort and safety.

(Photo courtesy of Anindya Mukherjee)

In comparison, an expedition to Nanda Devi East in 2013 for a nine-man team that Mukherjee was on cost Rs 3 lakh. “If I look back at Nanda Devi East, that was pure technical climbing, sheer joy. Everest is a circus - it’s expensive and I don’t want to face those crowds,” Mukherjee says.

In 2019, it was proposed that only those with prior high-altitude climbing experience should be allowed to climb Everest. But as of 2023, anyone with the money can go.
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Kuntal Joisher has summited Everest twice. He’s climbed from the north and the south. And through his climbing, he’s raised funds for multiple causes in Nepal. “There’s an entire economy around Everest and treks to Everest Base Camp. To expect Nepal to stop issuing permits or capping the number of climbers is just unreasonable. There’s no way they are not going to milk this cash cow,” he says.

Joisher recalls writing to a foreign agency in 2009 about attempting Everest; they had asked for his climbing resume. These days, he says, most agencies would simply send their payment schedule. “There are too many high-altitude tourists willing to go on suicide missions. If one agency refuses a client, it’s clear that the next one will take the business,” Joisher says.

Nepal allows for permit-sharing between different agencies. For instance, a smaller agency can reserve a spot for its own client on a permit that has a majority of climbers from a bigger agency. While they would share resources at base camp such as the kitchen, the climbing is down to the client and their high-altitude guide. A majority of the latter come from the Sherpa community.

“Sherpas settled in Darjeeling also go to Nepal during the season. But how many skilled, ethical Sherpas can there be? Besides, every nook and cranny of Thamel in Kathmandu has these agencies that can actually send you to Everest. But when things go wrong on the mountain, it’s every man for himself,” Mukherjee says.

Also read: Indian woman dies after falling ill at Everest base camp
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The other 8,000ers in Nepal see a fraction of the climbers that are on Everest. Dhaulagiri, the seventh highest mountain, had just 37 permits issued this season. Priyanka Mohite was among the climbers. Inclement weather meant that teams were bogged down at base camp until the first week of May.

As they proceeded up the mountain, they realized that most of the ropes were buried, forcing them to ready the route all over again. But conflicting weather reports and lack of coordination between teams meant that after eight days above base camp, Mohite had to descend from Camp 3.

“The winter was late this year, so a lot of snow was dumped on the mountain. But what hampered the climbing was the lack of communication. My agency had just three climbers, so we had to keep checking with a bigger team for the plan ahead. The uncertainty was frustrating,” Mohite says.

Even as she recuperated at base camp, she heard news of a new rope fixing team, who would continue to open the route to the summit. With prior commitments to attend to, Mohite realized she had only a few days to make a dash for the summit. But she was also aware of her body, having climbed five 8,000ers in the past. She decided to call off her climb.

“If only they had passed on this information, I could have planned things better. But I also know that I took the right call, instead of pushing myself and maybe getting into trouble,” Mohite says.

Priyanka Mohite on Annapurna summit (Photo courtesy Priyanka Mohite)

Another thriving industry that has become an integral part of climbing is the world of rescue and insurance. Climbers have been whisked off higher camps and back to the comforts of civilization in a matter of hours - a few in desperate need of medical attention, some just avoiding the long hike back to base camp.

American mountaineer Ed Viesturs once said, “Getting to the top is optional; getting down is mandatory”. Last year, he wrote, “I’ve always believed climbing a mountain has to be a round trip. The second half of any climb, the descent, is the most important part of the actual event”.
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Everest climbing is here to stay, as is the maddening chase for records and firsts. Mukherjee cites the example of Bhutan and their focus on high value-low volume visitors, though he admits it’s unfeasible for a country like Nepal that is so reliant on tourism revenue.

“Taxing agencies and increasing royalties may bring about marginal change, but people will always be willing to pay for Everest,” Mukherjee says.

Joisher sees the need for deterrents to be put in place. He cites the example of climbing Everest from Tibet, which sees fewer attempts than Nepal, especially since helicopter rescues aren’t permitted. “Nepal saying no to helicopter rescues would be a big deterrent. There would be few hiking even to Everest Base Camp,” he says.

“Agencies should also be handed incentives to ask clients to climb smaller mountains in Nepal before attempting an 8,000er. There’s more money to be made this way,” Joisher adds.

Most importantly, he says the blame game has to stop and climbers need to be more accountable for their actions on the mountain.

“A lot of people say climbers died in the traffic jam on Everest, that the Sherpa was inexperienced. But nobody talks about the incompetence of a climber or the terrible decisions that they made. If you have limited oxygen or don’t have the energy, don’t know when to turn around and go home, how can one blame someone else? You’re not just risking your own life, but also the Sherpa’s and those around you. This constant shirking of responsibilities is unfair,” he says.

Also read: Climbing without oxygen was hard enough. Then an avalanche buried everything in its path***

At Camp 3 during his summit push, Kakka’s tent mate felt ill and showed symptoms of oedema (water retention). Kakka tended to him all night and delayed his start the following morning, eventually missing out on his own shot at Everest.

“He was in tears when I told him he should go down, since his father had taken a loan for the climb. But I told him his father would be happier to see him alive and hear about his experiences,” Kakka says.

These are brutal yet important decisions climbers have to make. On Kangchenjunga last year, Kakka turned around during his summit push after realizing the weather had turned. By the time he was back at summit camp, he couldn’t feel his toe. The climb was abandoned and he descended to base camp the next day. He held on for two months, but had to eventually amputate a part of the big toe on the right foot.

“You immediately start thinking - this is the final part of the climb, should I be stopping now? Or do I want to go back, so I can live and continue climbing? Situations like Kangchenjunga will always arise and even though I made the hard call and turned around, it didn’t help because it was such a long way down,” Kakka says.

“Every mountain is different and each time you go up, conditions will be different. You have to accept that it may simply not be your day. This maturity makes for a good mountaineer,” he says.

After aborting his climb on Everest, Kakka reached the base of Makalu, the fifth highest mountain. There were few at base camp, most having finished their climb and left. Seven others including him decided to make an attempt, but couldn’t find their way up the mountain.

“We had to work together as a team, a lot of route finding and navigation. And a complete feeling of isolation. No loud music at base camp, no line of climbers. I had the entire mountain to myself, very different from what I had seen on Everest,” he says.

A rocky climb and a sketchy cornice awaited him on the final section. At 7am on May 23, Kakka stood on the summit of Makalu, his seventh 8,000er since 2017.

“You have to live the experience, enjoy the moment. Just getting to the summit doesn’t define success,” he says.

Also read: Indian-origin Singaporean man missing after reaching Mount Everest summit