Climbers stepping over corpses, abandoning people in distress
Each spring, the world's highest peak becomes a mirror held up to human ambition — and this season, that mirror cracked. An avalanche swept away a British climber and his Nepali guide near Everest's summit, triggering not only grief but a viral reckoning with what the mountain has become: a crowded, commercialized corridor where delay itself can kill. With at least five dead and three missing in 2024 alone, the tragedy is no longer only about the mountain's indifference to human life, but about the choices humanity keeps making in return.
- An avalanche near Everest's summit swept away 39-year-old Daniel Paterson and his 23-year-old guide Pas Tenji Sherpa, and days later neither had been found.
- Hundreds of climbers became trapped in a bottleneck on a single rope line, exposed to frostbite and snow blindness while negotiating who moves up and who moves down in lethal conditions.
- Indian mountaineer Rajan Dwivedi filmed the gridlock and posted it to Instagram, where nearly 3 million viewers watched what many called the 'most expensive circus in the world.'
- The footage cracked open a deeper wound — accounts of climbers stepping over corpses, abandoning those in distress, and leaving behind pollution and human waste in pursuit of a summit selfie.
- With five dead and three missing this season and eighteen killed in 2023, pressure is mounting on Nepal to restrict climbing permits — but commercial revenues and local livelihoods make that reckoning deeply complicated.
On a Tuesday in late May, an avalanche near Everest's summit swept British mountaineer Daniel Paterson, 39, and his Nepali guide Pas Tenji Sherpa, 23, off the mountain. By Saturday, neither had been recovered. That same week, Kenyan climber Joshua Cheruiyot Kirui was found dead, and his guide Nawang Sherpa remained missing — grim additions to a season that had already claimed at least five lives.
What followed the avalanche was almost as alarming as the event itself. Hundreds of climbers became stranded in a bottleneck near the summit, packed onto a single rope line, waiting in extreme cold to move up or down. Indian mountaineer Rajan Dwivedi captured the scene on video and posted it to Instagram, where it accumulated nearly 3 million views. His own caption was unsparing: 'Mt Everest is not a joke.' He noted that the injuries — frostbite, snow blindness, trauma — suffered in those queues rarely appear in any official record.
The footage ignited a broader conversation about what Everest has become. Online commenters called it the 'most expensive circus in the world.' One mountaineer described it as 'the highest, dirtiest, and most controversial place on Earth,' pointing to climbers stepping over bodies, ignoring calls for help, and leaving the mountain scarred with waste. The 2023 season had already killed eighteen people; the pattern is not new, only increasingly visible.
The overcrowding is a product of commercialization. Where Everest once belonged to a small circle of elite expeditions, it now receives hundreds of paying clients each season — many with the funds but not always the experience the mountain demands. The queues Dwivedi filmed are the physical consequence of that shift. Nepal's government, caught between mounting fatalities and the economic lifeline that permit fees provide to guides, outfitters, and public coffers, has yet to impose meaningful restrictions. For now, the climbers keep coming, and the lines keep forming.
On Tuesday, an avalanche on Mount Everest claimed two climbers and set off a cascade of consequences that would ripple through the mountain for days. Daniel Paterson, a 39-year-old British mountaineer, and Pas Tenji Sherpa, his 23-year-old Nepali guide, were part of a 15-person expedition that had reached the summit at 29,032 feet when a chunk of snow broke loose and swept them down the mountainside. By Saturday, neither man had been found. The incident was not isolated—that same week, Kenyan climber Joshua Cheruiyot Kirui, 40, was discovered dead on the mountain, and his guide Nawang Sherpa, 44, remained missing.
What made this particular tragedy notable was what happened in its aftermath: hundreds of climbers found themselves trapped in a bottleneck near the summit, queued in long lines as they waited their turn to descend or continue upward. The scene was so striking that Indian mountaineer Rajan Dwivedi captured video of the gridlock and posted it to Instagram. The footage showed climbers packed together on a single rope line, negotiating the logistics of moving both up and down the mountain simultaneously in extreme conditions. The video went viral, accumulating nearly 3 million views and sparking a wider conversation about what Everest has become.
Dwivedi's commentary on his own video was blunt: "Mt Everest is not a joke and in fact, quite a serious climb." He noted that the queues represented only one rope line, and that many climbers suffered injuries—frostbite, snow blindness, various trauma—that never made it into official databases. The mountain's harsh environment means that even without a catastrophe, the climb exacts a physical toll that often goes uncounted.
The viral footage prompted sharp reactions online. Some users called it the "most expensive circus in the world." Others expressed fatigue with Everest's allure, saying the images were no longer cool or unique but rather depressing. One mountaineer who goes by the handle "the Northerner" offered a darker assessment, calling Everest "the highest, the dirtiest and the most controversial place on Earth." He pointed to a troubling reality: climbers stepping over corpses, abandoning people in distress, ignoring calls for help, all while leaving the mountain scarred with pollution and human waste in pursuit of the summit.
The 2024 spring climbing season had already proven deadly before Paterson and Sherpa went missing. By late May, at least five people had died and three others had vanished. The previous spring, in 2023, eighteen people lost their lives on Everest. These numbers reflect a pattern that has troubled mountain officials for years: Everest's popularity shows no signs of waning, even as the risks mount and the ethical questions deepen.
The overcrowding itself is a relatively recent phenomenon tied to commercialization. Decades ago, climbing Everest was an expedition undertaken by a small number of elite mountaineers. Today, guided expeditions bring hundreds of climbers to the mountain each season, many of them paying substantial fees to outfitters who manage the logistics. This democratization of access has made the summit achievable for people with determination and money but not necessarily the experience or physical resilience that the mountain demands. The queues that Dwivedi filmed are a direct result of this shift—too many people on too narrow a path in conditions where delay itself becomes dangerous.
The deaths and disappearances of this season, and the viral video of the traffic jam, have reignited debate about whether Nepal should impose stricter limits on climbing permits. Officials have long worried about accidents and fatalities, but the commercial incentives run deep. Each permit generates revenue for the Nepali government and income for local guides and outfitters. Balancing safety against economic interest remains unresolved, and for now, the mountain continues to draw climbers, and the queues continue to form.
Citas Notables
Mt Everest is not a joke and in fact, quite a serious climb. Several climbers end up with frostbites, snow blindness and various types of injuries that are not counted in any database.— Indian mountaineer Rajan Dwivedi
Humans bypassing corpses, leaving people dying, ignoring help cries, making it dirtiest place with pollution and human wastes; all for the glory of summit.— Mountaineer known as 'the Northerner'
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does overcrowding on Everest matter so much more now than it did twenty years ago?
Because the mountain has always been dangerous, but danger used to be part of the bargain—you knew what you were signing up for. Now you have people who've paid a lot of money expecting a guided experience, and they're standing in line at 29,000 feet in a storm waiting for someone else to move. The delay itself becomes the killer.
The video showed climbers packed together. How does that change the actual risk?
When you're queued up like that, you can't move quickly if conditions deteriorate. You're exposed longer. Your body is burning oxygen and heat just standing there. And if something goes wrong—an avalanche, a storm—you're trapped in a line instead of being able to make decisions independently.
Is the issue really the number of people, or is it something about how they're being guided?
Both. The number of people means there's only so much rope, so many fixed lines. But also, many of these climbers are being rushed through the mountain on tight schedules. The guides are managing multiple clients. It's a system optimized for throughput, not for safety.
What did that mountaineer mean about stepping over corpses?
There are bodies on Everest. Some are climbers who died in previous years and were never recovered. When you're in a queue trying to reach the summit, you pass them. The mountain is becoming a graveyard that people walk through to achieve a personal goal.
So why do people keep going?
Because summiting Everest still means something culturally. It's the ultimate peak. And the outfitters have made it feel achievable—they've created a product. But the mountain hasn't changed. It's still as lethal as it ever was.