Norbu Tenzing Norgay,聽vice president of the聽, captured the scene of mass exodus taking place in Nepal's capital on the morning of Wednesday, April 29 at 6:45 A.M. More than 100,000 had fled Kathmandu by Wednesday morning and the聽Guardian聽estimates that another 200,000 could also leave in the chaos following the April 25聽earthquake.

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Going through the Khumbu Icefall on Mount Everest is like playing Russian roulette, I am told. Sherpas, who make as many as 40 trips per season through this treacherous area, know the odds are stacked against them.

On this day one year ago, 16 men died in an instant during an avalanche in the Icefall. Sixteen families lost their sole breadwinners and 31 children lost their beloved fathers. The face of grief captured on a young Sherpa girl鈥檚 face at her father鈥檚 funeral鈥攁n image circulated in newspapers around the world鈥攕erved as a reminder to climbers that mountaineering can be a deadly business.聽

A Sherpa gets paid about $32.50 per round trip carrying heavy loads through the Icefall. (This Icefall bonus comprises part of the roughly $4,000 to $6,000 that a Sherpa makes in a season on the mountain.)聽The supplies Sherpas bear ensure that the climbers have what they need higher up on the mountain, that their energy is conserved, and that their chances of making it to the top of the world are much higher.

Dorje Sherpa was one of the 16 who died. He was married to Ang Nemi Sherpa, whom my grandfather raised. Last October I saw Ang Nemi in Namche Bazaar. She had made the trek from the tiny hamlet of Tragna at 13,000 feet. She lives in a traditional one-room stone hut with baby yaks on one side of the room and her family on the other. I asked her how she was coping. She was bereft of words. Her four young children are attending school in Namche Bazaar, thanks to money provided by聽Lakpa Rita Sherpa, a veteran climber and guide for , Dorje鈥檚 former employer. She longs to relocate closer to her children, and the community is helping her make this possible.聽

To use the words of the great climber Pete Athans, last year鈥檚 tragedy inspired 鈥溾�� for those who work on the mountain. I would like to think that it was also a referendum on inequity; for the first time, the troubling inequity between risk and reward on Everest was under a global microscope. Yes, Sherpas make a choice to risk their lives to feed their families, but this equation can be changed, and the inequity can be reduced. Western guides earn about ten times the聽income of Sherpas聽for guiding on Everest.

A shift began in late August, when 40 mountaineering workers with a range of experiences came together to discuss the issues they faced on climbing expeditions. It was a unique gathering and event. In an industry dominated by the agendas of international climbers and expedition companies, Sherpas are not typically invited to share their opinions on necessary reforms. The workers made seven recommendations, among them were access to more professional training opportunities, the need to reform overly-competitive business practices that encourage cuts in price and safety, and the need to instill better employment practices.

In response to the call for crucial changes to the industry, the Nepali Government, which received $3.2 million in mountaineering fees from Everest climbers in 2014, revealed its position on ordinary Sherpa lives by increasing life insurance premiums by an insignificant amount ($5,000), offering a pittance in compensation (an additional $400 per family), and instituting lightweight changes on the mountain, like slightly increasing the presence of officials at Base Camp. More substantive support鈥攆unds to educate children, cost of living stipends for the widows鈥攃ame from coordinated efforts of a number of non-profit organizations.聽

On Saturday, homes around the Himalaya marked the first anniversary of the deaths of their loved ones with Buddhist rituals: clouds of fragrant juniper will hang over villages; butter lamps will be lit; the haunting sounds of long Buddhist horns and cymbals will reverberate across the valleys; and generous offerings will be made in memory of the fallen, and in the hope that the lives of Sherpas will mean as much as that of the people they assist to the top of Everest. But while the global Sherpa community unites in support for the families, Chomolungma (鈥渕other goddess of the world鈥�) continues to become more of a playground: this year, one of the 30 expeditions on Everest intends to place a player-autographed Premier League football on the summit. Kailash Sirohiya, Managing Director of the local Nepali media conglomerate Kantipur Publications touts this as a 鈥渢ruly innovative campaign,鈥� which will 鈥減ut Nepal and Mount Everest鈥檚 name on the world map.鈥�

Every day the relatives of the men who died last year face their grief. How then can one explain to a young child that his or her father died on Everest so that an autographed ball can be carried to the summit for the bargain price of $32.50? The results of the referendum on risk have come too soon, and people with the power to decide have voted for business as usual.

Norbu Tensing Norgay is the son of Nepalese mountaineer Tenzing Norgay, one of the two first people to summit Mount Everest, in 1953.

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Each spring for the past 21 years I have been going to Nepal. And each spring since the 1920's mountaineers have made their way to the Himalayas to climb, discover and test the limits of their abilities鈥攅ach with his or her own hopes and motivations. Sherpa climbers who lead the expeditions first visit their monasteries to do divinations and obstacle-removing prayers ahead of the precarious journey they are about to partake in.

It is a spring rite which takes place in Sherpa households across the Himalayas and now the world鈥攑artly via Skype in New York and California. If the gods answer their prayers, the men will return in mid-May with smiling broad faces burnt from exposure to the sun鈥攁nd the spoils of their hard work. They're home safe and will replenish physically and spiritually until the fall when they must go back to work again.

As our plane banks right over the Bay of Bengal, I look through the window to get a glimpse of the Himalayas, and see Chomolungma鈥擬other Goddess of the World鈥擲agarmatha, better known to the outer world as Mt. Everest. I am not sure why, but even from the safety of the plane I am anxious, happy, restless and am overcome by emotions with this glimpse of Everest鈥攖he huge majestic black rock which takes center stage perched above all other great mountains. I wonder who is out there, and if anyone is on the summit today. I look through a set of binoculars and imagine they are powerful enough to see people climbing. I pray that the weather does not change.

I was fortunate to be with Sir Edmund Hillary on a similar flight in 2003 when we took off from Kathmandu en-route to London as part of the celebrations. The weather was clear and the pilot made a special effort to get us close to Everest. I remember Sir Ed looking through the window with his distinctive smile, pointing out the villages he had walked through that lead up to Khumbu. Knowing Sir Ed, he was probably thinking of a new route or how he could make a school building larger so more children would have the opportunity to study.

On my trip last month, however, the entire Himalayan range including Everest was shrouded in clouds. I could not begin to imagine the magnitude below of the sorrow, the angst, the pain felt across the funerals of the 16 who died in this year's avalanche, plus another Sherpa who had died two weeks prior.

Two things stand in sharp contrast for me in the aftermath of this tragedy. On the bright side, the global support and sympathy for the families has been overwhelming. In the eyes of the world Sherpas have always been proud, easy going and hardworking people. Over the years Sherpas have also been seen as the ones doing the hard work but seldom getting the credit. And their tragedies on the slopes of Everest have played out time and again. In the past three years alone, 24 Sherpa guides have perished on Everest.聽

The long-running exploitation of the climbing Sherpa was exposed by the horrific April 18 avalanche. All of a sudden climbing Everest is not as cool any more. This epic disaster has had worldwide impact. Will it last? My personal hope is that anyone who wishes to climb Everest or any other mountain in the future will have a clearer understanding first of the economics of their choice.聽

Although the Government of Nepal is an easy target and has become the punching bag in the past month for the grievances, standing in the shadows are expedition operators who profit handsomely. They marginalize and at times intimidate climbing Sherpas, most of whom have little education and no one who speaks for them.聽

The Sherpas often are pawns in this deadly game that operators have no interest in changing. The climbing Sherpas know that if they raise any issue about pay, life insurance, and the heavy loads they carry or the great risks they bear for expedition clients, they and other family members might be blackballed when jobs are assigned for the next climbing season.聽

Sitting in a hotel lobby in Kathmandu a week after the tragedy, I was shocked to hear several Everest operators express a total lack of empathy for what happened. “We have to live, too, and will need to pass any higher costs on to the western operators,” one told me when I asked why salaries aren鈥檛 more equitable for the climbing Sherpas. He blamed the Nepali Government for any injustice.

I had to remind him that life insurance provided by operators for a climbing Sherpa in 1971 would be equal to $45,000 in today鈥檚 dollars, yet the families of those Sherpas who died on April 18 are to receive a meager $11,000. Nothing more. This is barely enough to pay funeral expenses and a couple years of school fees. Then what will these families do?聽

An acquaintance of mine contacted nine Everest tour operators in the U.S. by telephone after the disaster. Could they do anything to help the dozens of parents, spouses and children who had just lost their sole bread-winner? Most answered that they were doing the best they could, but offered no specifics. Two had set up funds for the Sherpa families. Neither would they even speculate about how this disaster might change their business practices.

At the core of what I call Everest Inc. is the climber, the ultimate enabler of this exploitation. The numbers of casual, recreational adventurers on Everest have soared in recent decades. Anyone hoping to join their ranks now should be willing to ask hard questions both of themselves and the expedition companies they might choose.

Would they be able to look into the eyes of a climbing Sherpa's newborn child, then assure his family their conscience is clear about how this father, husband, uncle or brother will be compensated and protected? Do those agreed terms sufficiently recognize the great dangers the guides must face? Do the climbers understand the ethics of their choices?

On Thursday May 29th, we mark the 61st anniversary of the historic first ascent of Everest. Indelibly linked in our memories is an enduring symbol of the human spirit – the iconic image of a man in a mask – my father, Tenzing Norgay鈥攕tanding tall on top of the world with clear blue skies as far as eyes can take you. That image will be clouded over quickly, replaced by more photos of funerals and grieving families, if things don't change.

Norbu Tenzing Norgay is a vice president of the American Himalayan Foundation, and the eldest son of Tenzing Norgay, the first Sherpa to summit Everest.

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