Mount Everest holds a special aura for hardcore climbers and casual fans of the sport alike. Every year, the world’s highest peak attracts several hundred climbers who attempt to reach the top. But not everyone is familiar with the dynamics on the mountain, the guiding industry, or even the route to the top. Below, we answer a handful of familiar questions that we often receive from 国产吃瓜黑料 readers (and also 国产吃瓜黑料 editors) about Mount Everest.

Do you have a question about Mount Everest? Email them to adventure@outsideinc.com.

And check out our 2025 coverage from Mount Everest Base Camp.

What Is Mount Everest Season?

Yes, there are 365 days in a year. But only a handful of those days produce calm, clear, and (relatively) warm enough weather on the summit of Mount Everest for humans to exist. And the only time when the top of Mount Everest consistently experiences multiple days of these conditions鈥攚hat climbers call a “weather window”鈥攊s in mid to late May. During a typical year, a few weather windows may occur during this brief stretch.

That’s why, in the international mountaineering world, late April through May is known as “Mount Everest Season.” It’s when climbers arrive in Base Camp, complete their acclimatization hikes onto the mountain, and then push for the top.

According to The Himalayan Database, a website that tracks Himalayan climbing in Nepal, May 23 is the most popular date for reaching the summit. Since 1950, 1,712 climbers have reached the top of Mount Everest on that date. May 21 is the next busiest day with 1,487 successful summits.

“All mountains in Nepal are best climbed in spring because there is less snow,” says Billi Bierling, who operates The Himalayan Database. “People think there’s so much snow, and yes there is, but not as much as there is during the summer monsoon.”

Climbers avoid Mount Everest in the summer because, in early June, monsoons sweep off the Bay of Bengal into the Himalayas. These storms dump heavy snowfall on the peak and buffet the top with dangerous winds. In the winter, the peak is simply too cold and windy.

Some climbers have scaled Mount Everest in the fall, when a shorter weather window sometimes opens up. But the finicky weather usually makes for a shorter window. According to Bierling, only 287 climbers have ever reached the top in the fall.

“The weather window is just too small in the fall,” Bierling said. “The monsoon is sometimes dragging on, and then the Jet Stream hits Everest earlier than other 8,000-meter peaks because it’s higher.”

But of course the lack of suitable days to climb Mount Everest is what creates those dramatic photos of traffic jams on the peak鈥攈undreds of climbers are pushing for the top at exactly the same time. If you were to snap a photo in the same location a day later, the trail might be empty.

Do Climbers Take the Same Route Every Year?

Yes鈥攖he lion’s share of Mount Everest climbers follow the same approximate route to the top. The South Col route from Nepal and the North Ridge route from Tibet represent the paths of least resistance on both sides of Mount Everest, and thus, they are the most common ways to get to the top. Think of them as the proverbial green circle runs at your local ski resort.

You can check out the South Col route from Nepal above.听

Both routes make slight deviations from year to year based on snowfall, avalanches, and shifting ice in the Khumbu Icefall.听Each year, sherpas and other mountain workers fix safety ropes along the route to the summit, and then guides and their clients use these safety ropes to reach the top. And as Mount Everest has become dominated by commercial ascents, these routes have only grown in popularity, since most of the climbers are not hardened alpinists.

Over the years, more experienced climbers have taken more challenging routes to the summit that require true Alpine-style climbing, such as ascending the Hornbein Couloir, or the Kangshung Face. In 2022 French climber Marc Batard attempted a new approach that circumvented the Khumbu Icefall. And for the last few years, German Alpinist Jost Kobusch has attempted to scale Everest via the West Ridge. These are black diamond-level routes鈥攐nly attempted by seasoned climbers.

How Much Harder Is it to Climb Mount Everest WITHOUT Supplemental Oxygen?

Here’s how Dr. Jon Kedrowski, a four-time Mount Everest climber, describes climbing the peak without using supplemental oxygen. “It would be as if I pulled your lower lip over your head and then kicked you in the stomach,” he said. “It hurts. Everything hurts.”

It’s no secret that the human body functions better in oxygen-rich environments and worse in oxygen-poor ones. At Mount Everest Base Camp, at 17,500 feet, there’s approximately half as much oxygen in the air compared to sea level. Atop Mount Everest, it’s approximately 33 percent of sea level.

Using supplemental oxygen effectively lowers the perceived elevation by giving your body more to absorb with each breath. The amount of oxygen in each breath鈥攖he “flow rate” of the oxygen mask鈥攃an add significant amounts of oxygen to your body.

Kedrowski, who climbed 26,781-foot Manaslu without oxygen and attempted Everest without oxygen in 2015, said that every bodily movement at that altitude can push your body to exhaustion. You have to hike slower and make every bodily movement count.

“You have to learn how to stand, how to stabilize your body, and how to optimize your movement efficiency,” he said. “Even a little task like reaching your hand back to grab a water bottle can take your breath away and make you feel like you’re going to pass out.”

How Much Does it Cost to Climb Mount Everest?

In his annual , longtime Everest chronicler (and 国产吃瓜黑料 contributor) pegged the 2025 price range between $35,000 and $123,000 for climbing Mount Everest from Nepal.

Even a bare-bones expedition has costs you cannot avoid: a climbing permit from the Nepali government costs $11,000, payment to rope fixers and Nepal liaison officers is a few grand, and then of course you need to hire a yak or two to get your crap to Base Camp.

So, It’s Just a Bunch of Rich People Up There, Right?

Not at all. The vibe at Mount Everest Base Camp is way more scrappy climber than Prada. Some expedition operators do cater to high-end clientele and feature creature comforts like fancy espresso machines and private chefs. You can pay upwards of $100,000 for a trip like this. But these climbers are in the minority at Everest Base Camp.

“In 2012, I spent $29,000 on my first Everest trip,” Kedrowski said. “I was working as a ranger on Mount Rainier at the time and a ski guide. I paid some up front and put the rest on my credit card.”

Kedrowski said he found ways to cut costs on his ascent by carrying his own gear up to Camp I and Camp II.

“It was still an expensive endeavor, and rightly so,” he added.

Is There Any 鈥淭echnical鈥� Climbing Involved?

Not really. Think of the ascent of Mount Everest as a big, long, multi-day hike at extreme altitude, with sections of fairly dangerous exposure. There are tricky sections in the Khumbu Icefall, but the route builders erect ladders, and also fix safety ropes and anchors to help climbers pull themselves up.

“The only person experiencing true technical climbing is the first person leading the pitch,” Kedrowski said. “Last year there was one vertical wall in the Icefall but after so many people climbed it you’d barely rate it fifth-class.”

Why Do People Climb Mount Everest?

Throughout my time in Base Camp I’ve learned that everyone has their own reason for climbing. These explanations vary greatly. Sure, there’s some ego driving climbers, and everyone is asking themselves, “what am I capable of?”

But there’s also an infectious community of people who ascend these mountains, and for some, it’s this camaraderie that motivates them. I’ve met a lot of like-minded people who enjoy pushing themselves physically and mentally. Throughout my journey here I’ve decided that asking this question is like asking “why do people join CrossFit gyms?”

Throughout his time guiding, Kedrowski says he’s come across clients motivated by several reasons. “One client was working through a battle in his own life and he was trying to do something he could be proud of,” Kedrowski says. “He had worked really hard to change his life, and he had put in the time and training so that he felt he deserved to be on Mount Everest.”

Want to stay up on 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 2025 Everest Season coverage? Sign up for our听.

Ben Ayers听is a filmmaker, journalist, and adventurer who splits his time between Vermont and Nepal. In 2022 and 2024 he chronicled the Mount Everest climbing season for听国产吃瓜黑料.

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On Sunday, May 4, American climber听Alex Pancoe died on the slopes of Nepal’s 27,838-foot Makalu, the world’s fifth-highest mountain.

Pancoe was completing an acclimatization hike in preparation for a Makalu summit bid, and had recently returned to Camp II at 22,310 feet when he died, sources told 国产吃瓜黑料. His guide, Terray Sylvester of American climbing company Madison Mountaineering, told 国产吃瓜黑料 that Pancoe died suddenly.

“We don’t yet know exactly what happened,” Sylvester said. “Just a few hours earlier, he’d told me how happy he was, and that he was feeling so strong at altitude. He moved well that day, and had a great appetite and attitude.”

Sylvester and Pancoe had eaten dinner and tucked into their sleeping bags, but while they were talking, Pancoe became unresponsive. An autopsy later revealed he’d suffered cardiac arrest. Despite several hours of resuscitation efforts from Sylveseter,听other climbers, and Sherpas, Pancoe could not be revived.

Pancoe leaves behind a wife and two young children.

A Climber with a Higher Purpose

Friends and climbing partners spoke with听国产吃瓜黑料 about Pancoe this week, sharing anecdotes and memories. “He was always focused on what he was up there to do,” says Andrew Hughes, a close friend, ” which was to raise money and awareness for pediatric cancer.”

Pancoe began climbing mountains in 2016, but his dedication to cancer survival began more than a decade earlier. In 2005, Pancoe鈥攖hen 19鈥攚as diagnosed with a brain tumor. He survived, with no complications, after undergoing surgery at Lurie Children鈥檚 Hospital in his hometown of Chicago.

Pancoe used his climbs to raise funds for Lurie Children’s Hospital In 2019, he completed a feat known as the 鈥淓xplorer’s Grand Slam,鈥� climbing the highest peaks on all seven continents and skiing to the North and South Poles. In the process, he raised over half a million dollars.

鈥淲hen you face death early in life, I guess you see life differently,鈥� Hughes said. 鈥淗aving gone through his brain tumor, I think Alex saw every day as another opportunity to seize what might have been taken from him.鈥�

After finishing the adventure, Pancoe continued to climb other peaks to raise money for charity. During a 2023 attempt to summit 22,349-foot Ama Dablam in Nepal, Pancoe fell ill, and was subsequently diagnosed with chronic myeloid leukemia, a lifelong cancer of the bone marrow.

For his Makalu ascent, Pancoe was hoping to raise a symbolic $27,838鈥攖he mountain鈥檚 elevation in feet鈥攆or the pediatric blood cancer program at Lurie Children鈥檚.

鈥淗e told me that when he stood up there, he was standing with everyone鈥攅very doctor, every person in his family, every friend鈥攚ho helped support him over the years,” Huges said. “The people who had been there when he was sick, and been there when he was well. His community back in Chicago really lifted him up.鈥�

Outgoing and Full of Energy

Hughes first met Pancoe in 2019, while both were attempting to summit Mount Everest. “He came to the mountains with an incredible sense of purpose,” Huges said. “He had his personal goals, sure, but he wasn鈥檛 trying to elevate himself. It was about bringing awareness to a cause that was deeply personal to him, one that had essentially saved his life.鈥�

Hughes described Pancoe as outgoing and full of energy. He was also dedicated to training and preparation, even after his leukemia diagnosis. Pancoe came into his climbs fit and well-prepared, Hughes said, and was always more concerned with going home to his family than summiting.

鈥淲e both lived by the idea that the most important step is the one that gets you back home,鈥� Hughes said.

In a text message exchange shared with 国产吃瓜黑料, Pancoe told Hughes鈥攁 soon-to-be father鈥攖hat being a parent was an experience he was learning to value far more than any summit. 鈥淵ou won鈥檛 miss climbing like you think,鈥� he wrote.听鈥淏eing a dad is amazing. I just want to wind things down on my own terms, [not by] coming up short on Ama Dablam because of leukemia.鈥�

Seth Timpano, a guide with American company Alpine Ascents, also noticed Pancoe’s dedication to his wife and children. During an ascent of Washington’s Mount Baker, he saw Pencoe follow his values. 鈥淲e made a strong push to the summit and back in great style, grabbed deli sandwiches for the drive, and still got him to the airport with plenty of time to catch his red-eye flight to Chicago, just in time to spend the 4th of July with his family,” Timpano said. “Alex loved the mountains, but he loved his family even more.鈥�

Pancoe befriended everyone he met in the mountains, Sylvester added. 鈥淥n our rotation to Camp I and II , he joked that he was the official 鈥榞reeter鈥� or 鈥榓mbassador鈥� on that section of the mountain,鈥� Sylvester said.

Pancoe spent most of his rest days sitting by the side of the trail on the edge of camp, chatting with other hikers. Even on the acclimatization hike before his death, 鈥渉e talked with just about everyone we passed on the trail,鈥� Sylvester said. Syvlester said that, shortly before his death, Pancoe befriended a stray dog at Makalu base camp.

鈥淗e gave it somewhere warmer to sleep, in the vestibule of his tent, and scraps from our dining tent,” Sylvester said. “He had a really good heart.鈥�

Hughes said that Pancoe had been in good health going into his Makalu expedition. Sylvester echoed the sentiment. 鈥淚 was thinking he鈥檇 have an excellent shot at the summit on our eventual summit push,鈥� Sylvester said.

Pancoe’s death is the fourth fatality of the 2025 Himalayan season. In early April, two Nepali guides were killed in an avalanche on 26,545-foot Annapurna. In late April, an Austrian climber, Martin Hornegger, died while descending Ama Dablam.

A Legacy That Will Continue

In the day’s after Pancoe鈥檚 death, his wife, Nina Laski Pancoe, wrote in a tribute to him on social media. “The moment I received that call from a satellite number, I wanted to think it was nothing, but deep down I knew something was very wrong,” she wrote. “At first I thought you broke a bone, but to hear that your heart stopped and CPR was not working, my heart shattered into a million pieces 鈥� You lived each day to the fullest making an impact on the world around you. You are the kindest, sweetest, most passionate person I have ever met.鈥�

Hughes said one of the most special things about his friendship with Pancoe was the support he always received from his friend, and the lack of competition between them. 鈥淚n the outdoor world, especially in climbing, there are always so many people trying to outdo each other, with 鈥榝irsts鈥� and records,鈥� Hughes said. 鈥淎lex wasn鈥檛 like that. You could be vulnerable with him. We shared our goals and tried to find ways to make them work for each other.鈥�

Hughes said Pancoe’s outgoing personality and dedication to climbing and cancer fundraising will ensure that his memory lives on.

鈥淒espite the things that he was dealing with on a health level, Alex had so much life,鈥� Hughes said. 鈥淗is time was cut short, but he is going to far outlive the life that he was given, by how much impact he鈥檚 had on the world around him.鈥�

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Part of the challenge of hiking to Mount Everest Base Camp is avoiding illness and exhaustion. It’s no secret that tourists often pass gastrointestinal viruses and head colds to each other during the journey, and the extreme altitude makes the body particularly vulnerable to infection. The altitude you attain during the trek to Mount Everest can also cause serious (or even fatal) health conditions, so taking extra precautions could mean the difference between a great or a miserable experience.

A Few Small Tricks to Stay Healthy on the Trail

I always protect my skin and face from the sun by wearing a hat, a hood, and plenty of sunscreen. The high-altitude sun is strong, and even a light sunburn can steal energy and fluid from your body that would be better used boosting your immune system.

I also protect my lungs from the dust on the trail, which can contain particulates from mule or yak dung. Wearing a neck gaiter or N95 mask is important, and keeping it over your nose as much as possible makes a difference. Yes, it takes some fussing on the uphills to keep your sunglasses from fogging up, but protecting your breathing passages is worth the annoyance.

Along the trek, mineral water in plastic bottles is available for purchase, but I avoid it, given the environmental impact and the difficulty of getting the empty plastic bottles to a proper recycling facilities. Instead, I carry a Nalgene bottle and a thermos, filling them both with boiled water when I stop.

I follow the advice of local guides who will tell you that above 10,000 feet, you should only drink warm water鈥攖aking small sips throughout the day rather than chugging a half-liter in one go. There鈥檚 also the added benefit of filling your Nalgene bottle with boiling water at night and tucking it into your sleeping bag with you.

In terms of food, I suggest sticking to the local fare of Dal Bhat as a cost-effective way of staying healthy. The meal is a good balance of rice, lentils, and vegetables and comes with free refills at most restaurants. I try to only eat hot foods made from locally sourced ingredients like spinach and potatoes, and I avoid all uncooked vegetables for the fear of getting a gastrointestinal bug.

I like to bring along protein powder or a vitamin supplement like Athletic Greens to supplement the limited fresh food available as the altitude increases.

My most important rule is to wash my hands with soap as often as I possibly can, and always before every meal.

But even my rules aren鈥檛 perfect. Everyone鈥檚 body responds differently, and it鈥檚 best to hike with a flexible attitude. My cameraman and friend who is traveling with me picked up a dreadful case of food poisoning from eating dried yak meat in a stew鈥攁 meal that should have been safe. We took an unplanned day off, and he recovered. The mountains demand flexibility and with sickness or with altitude, it鈥檚 best to rest when the situation demands.

I have another trick for staying healthy鈥攁voiding crowds. The farther up the Khumbu Valley I’ve hiked, the more I’ve actively avoided groups of hikers. I also scheduled in a full day of rest to allow my body to get accustomed to the thin air. While some hikers try to get to Base Camp as quickly as possible, I’ve given myself a full 11 days to complete the 40-mile walk.

Resting for a Day in Dingboche

I chose the town of Dingboche at 14,500 feet for my rest day. It’s just six miles from Everest Base Camp. I picked out the Ama Dablam Lodge because it was less crowded than other tea houses. Alas, this meant there was no espresso machine in the dining room, but it was a creature comfort I was willing to sacrifice. After my alarm sounded at 6 A.M. I made my own coffee with a pour-over pack.

I chose Dingboche for a day off for another reason鈥擨 have brought a flying drone with me to Mount Everest to capture images of Base Camp, the Khumbu Icefall, and other parts of the peak. But in order to legally fly the device, I must first register it with the local authorities. And there’s a police station in Dingboche.

As I walked to the tiny police station, I stopped into a place called Cafe 4410鈥攐n the menu were gluten-free pancakes, lattes made with oat milk, and burgers. Yes, another sign of the Mount Everest region’s rapid change due to tourism. The coffee was delicious.

Obtaining a permit to fly a drone in Nepal as a foreigner was a somewhat Kafkaesque exercise in patience. The permit itself costs around $2,000 (or 270,000 Nepal Rupees). But paying for the permit is the easy part. You need a local fixer to help obtain the necessary paperwork from a half-dozen regional and national governmental offices. I started this process long before I left the United States for Nepal鈥攊t took a month to simply get the papers I needed to sign.

There are other hoops to jump through: I am required to physically check in with several local governmental bodies, police precincts, and National Park offices along the way. As I’ve learned during my 20-years of working in Nepal, these processes usually go swimmingly. But all it takes is one grumpy official who is having a bad day to stop the process dead in its tracks. And I would advise against flying a drone at Mount Everest without a permit. Local police love to make an example out of people who don’t follow the rules.

When I arrived at the police station in Dingboche, four officers were lounging outside on plastic lawn chairs, enjoying the sunshine. They wore heavy blue down jackets with a police ensignia on their chests. Three of the four had manicured Bollywood-style mustaches.

I’m fluent in Nepali, and speaking the local language to government officials can either open doors or give a disgruntled official the opportunity to ask additional questions and slow down the process. In Dingboche, I lucked out. Within 30 seconds of showing the officers my stack of paperwork, they warmed to me. I spent the next hour drinking cups of foamy Nescafe with the guys and chatting with them about their lives at the foot of Mount Everest.

The officers told me they were proud that the Dingboche department was probably the highest in Nepal and “maybe even in the world,” one of them said. They admitted to being bored. Life in the village was slow, and the primary commerce was visiting trekkers.

“We only have something interesting to do once or twice a month,” one of them admitted.

With my drone paperwork approved, I departed the station with my crew鈥攚e’re also producing a daily news update on Instagram called 鈥攖o take a short hike uphill to expose my body to the altitude and help with my acclimating. We followed a steady procession of trekkers in bright jackets up a high ridge on the outskirts of the village. As we rested for a minute, gasping for breath, I decided to launch the drone, hoping to capture a view of the peaks before the clouds rolled in.

Making New Friends in Dingboche

I looked down the hill and saw two of the policemen I had just been talking with moving swiftly up the mountain. They arrived at our launch zone and informed me that they would monitor our flight to make sure my drone didn’t interfere with the flight path for helicopters.

But as soon as I launched my drone, I saw that these guys were also after something else. They wanted me to snap dramatic photos of them, posed like action figures against the towering peaks. I was more than happy to oblige. For the next hour or so we walked along the ridge with the officers, taking epic drone footage of them clad in different articles of my wardrobe.

As we hiked back into the village, one of the police offers stopped me. He informed me that I simply needed a haircut. This was puzzling鈥擨’m almost thoroughly bald. Not wanting to spoil the moment, I agreed. “Come by the police station after lunch,” the officer told me.

After a warm lunch of rice and lentils and chicken curry back at the lodge, I completed my writing assignment for the day. A thick and cold fog settled in over Dingboche, and at 4 P.M. I ventured back to the police station. Two offers were still there, wrapped in heavy wool blankets. After two cups of Nescafe, one of the policemen, the barber, led me to an empty field behind the station. I sat in one of the plastic chairs. He wrapped an apron around my neck and torso and got to work with an electric shaver, just as it began to snow.

The haircut took about a half hour, with the snow increasing in intensity the entire time. His hands were steady and firm, as he ran the shaver across my head, beard, and across the insides of my ears. I asked him where he learned to cut hair. 鈥淵outube,鈥� he said, without pausing.

I was getting cold. The snow was gathering in clumps on my pants and the barber鈥檚 apron. The policeman barber unwrapped a disposable blade and set it into a straight razor. As he sprayed my neck and head with cold water, I began to shiver uncontrollably. I stopped myself from shaking as he drew the blade around my neck. 鈥淚鈥檓 not very good at this,鈥� he said.

In that moment, frozen and a bit scared, sitting in the lap of mountains that I couldn鈥檛 then see, in the hands of this country that has given me so much, I was as warm and as secure as I鈥檝e ever been, as anyone could ever be.

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The first leg of travel to reach Mount Everest Base Camp is sometimes the hardest.

That’s what听国产吃瓜黑料 correspondent Ben Ayers experienced earlier this week. In his latest 国产吃瓜黑料: Dispatches from Everest video, Ayers takes us inside the topsy turvy world of air travel in the Mount Everest region.

Western tourists hoping to hike to the world’s tallest mountain first fly to Kathmandu. But then they must make their way to the town of Lukla in the Himalayan foothills, where the trail to Mount Everest begins. Getting to Lukla during the busy season in the Himalayas can present a challenge.

Tourists can hire a vehicle, but the drive takes upwards of 22 hours to complete. They can also book a flight from Kathmandu to Lukla’s Tenzing-Hillary airport, the self-described world’s most-dangerous airport. But flights from Kathmandu are hard to book during the busy season, and many trekkers must drive from Kathmandu to an airstrip in Rammechap and then board flights to Lukla.

Ayers decided to skip the flight and book a seat in a helicopter. And, as he found out, that mode of transportation came with its own set of challenges, as you will see in his latest video dispatch.

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I remember the shaking.

The vibrations were so severe that I could not stand up. After a few seconds, the soil beneath my feet liquified, and the village I was standing in began to spin like one of those sketchy teacup rides at an American county fair.

I also remember the noise. In an instant, the planet itself became a giant subwoofer, reverberating a terrible deep groan.

After a few seconds, the houses in the village began to collapse. Walls sheared off and crumbled, roofs fell into the potato fields, and the air became choked with dust. As the tiny stone wall I crouched behind fell around me, I looked up to see the bed I had slept in just an hour earlier hanging cantilevered into space on a beam, held aloft by a pile of rubble on my pillow.

It was April 25, 2015, and I was in Chaurikharka, Nepal, a small village near the town of Lukla, about 40 miles south of Mount Everest. The earthquake itself lasted for about 50 seconds, which is likely less than the time it鈥檚 taken to read this far into my story. Fifty seconds is also more than long enough to fully panic three or four times.

It鈥檚 been a decade since the Nepal earthquake, a shallow 7.8 magnitude tremor which killed almost 9,000 people, displaced millions more, and reduced huge swaths of the country to rubble. You have probably read about the quake and its impact on Mount Everest. The tremor dislodged a huge chunk of ice that crashed down on Base Camp killing 15 people immediately鈥攕even died in the following days鈥攁nd injuring more than 70.

Ten years later, Nepal鈥檚 infrastructure has been rebuilt, and the scars on Everest have been covered up. But those 50 seconds of rumbling are still clear in my head鈥攁s are the scenes that I witnessed in the days afterward.

This past Friday, April 25, I returned to Chaurikharka for the first time since the earthquake. I went there there to begin my trek from Lukla to Everest Base Camp, where I’m reporting on the climbing season for 翱耻迟蝉颈诲别.听But I also wanted to stand in spot where, just a decade earlier, the course of my life shifted.

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Where do Mount Everest climbers buy gear in Kathmandu?

It鈥檚 no secret that most Everest hopefuls arrive in Nepal with jackets, boots, harnesses, sleeping bags, and other mountaineering items. But even the most prepared climber sometimes forgets an important product at home, or buys the wrong thing.

Luckily for these climbers, there’s the Astrek Complex, a collection of stores that specializes in hiking gear, mountaineering hardware, outdoor apparel, and other outdoor products. The shops and cafes sit adjacent to an outdoor climbing wall and bouldering structure, where local climbers can test their strength. The climbing wall was the first to be built in central Kathmandu.

Our Dispatches from Everest reporter Ben Ayers recently toured Astrek to check out the stores and the climbing wall. He met with Nepali IMFG guide Vinayak Jaya Malla to talk about gear, safety, and the allure of the world’s highest peak.

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When I heard that the famed Norwegian mountaineer Kristin Harila was back in Kathmandu this spring, I texted her to see if she was interested in connecting for an interview. Harila, 39, rose to fame within the global mountaineering scene in 2023, when she and Nepali climber Tenjen 鈥淟ama鈥� Sherpa successfully climbed the world’s 14 peaks above 8,000 meters in just 92 days. The expedition still stands as a world record.

“I almost don’t do interviews anymore,” Harila told me. “It’s just written wrong all the time, even in the smallest outdoor magazines in Norway, they just write to get headlines.”

I met with Harila听in the crowded breakfast hall of the Aloft Hotel, towering above the beating heart of Kathmandu鈥檚 Thamel tourist district. Harila was dressed in a patchwork hoodie and was already working her way through an omelet and toast. The room buzzed with Indian tourists on holiday and conspicuous trekkers sporting听bright polypro shirts and pants that zip off at the knee.

Perhaps nobody in the mountaineering world has experienced such emotional highs and lows as Harila over the past two years. Criticism about her record-chasing expedition popped up as she was still climbing peaks. Within days of her July 27, 2023 ascent of K2, murmurs spread within the climbing scene that she and Lama had charged past a dying mountain worker on their way to the summit. Harila has about the incident and provided proof that she and Lama spent several hours trying to save the man

Then, in October 2023, disaster struck: Lama died in an avalanche on 26,335-foot Shishapangma in Tibet. He had been guiding American climber Gina Marie Rzucidlo, who was seeking to become the first American woman to complete all 14 8,000 meter peaks. Minutes after the deadly slide, another avalanche claimed the lives of Anna Gutu, another American, and her guide Mingmar Sherpa. The deaths had a major impact on Harila.

鈥淚 haven鈥檛 had any solace since K2 and since Lama passed away,” she said. “I鈥檓 trying to find my way back to the mountains in some way, but I don鈥檛 know if I鈥檒l ever be able to. I鈥檓 hoping to have a nice time now, but let鈥檚 see how it goes.鈥�

Harila is back in Nepal this year attempting to secure permits to return to Tibet to look for Lama and Rzucidlo, who are still buried somewhere on Shishapangma. She first plans to trek into the Everest region alongside Lama鈥檚 oldest son to acclimatize while she waits. If she has time, she said, she would do something casual like听climb Nuptse or run the Everest Marathon.

“I wanted to search for Lama again, but I was sure that it’s my last. I will do shorter trips, but not two months,” she told me. “I am done with long expeditions.”

This trip to Tibet is Harila’s second attempt to locate Lama and Rzucidlo, after an unsuccessful one last October. In May, 2024, climber Nirmal “Nims” Purja and his Elite Exped guides located the bodies of Gutu and Mingmar. For her 2025 search Harila is hoping to bring a helicopter, a French rescue pilot, and an RECCO听scanner that could ping signals off the reflectors in jackets worn by Lama and Rzucidlo.

The outfitter that helped Harila achieve her record, Seven Summits Treks, is currently working on the complex logistics and permitting of Harila’s mission.

鈥淭here is no one else that has any interest in finding them, other than me, Seven Summits, and Lama and Gina鈥檚 family. I鈥檓 paying for it all myself鈥� Harila told me. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 really care about money.鈥�

As we talked, Harila barely ate. She spoke quickly and emphatically. 鈥淔or everyone it would be good to get them home,” she said. “And if we鈥檙e not successful I鈥檒l probably try to come back in the autumn and try again. I鈥檓 trying to say it鈥檚 the last time now, but I know it will be hard if there鈥檚 an expedition to say 鈥業鈥檓 not coming.鈥欌��

I asked Harila if she felt that her own record-setting expedition in 2023 fueled the culture that led to the Shishapangma disaster.

鈥淚 can only say that I wasn鈥檛 there,” she answered. “That鈥檚 a lesson I learned from K2. The only people that can say what happened on Shishapangma, are dead. The four of them. So I cannot say anything for them, and none of them are here to defend themselves.”

Harila then added: 鈥淚 never thought it would end this way. If I knew, I never would have done it. A lot of these accidents that happened shouldn鈥檛 have happened.鈥�

Our conversation meandered, and as Harila stood up to get a coffee, a middle-aged British trekker in a neon-green running shirt leaned over to me and asked: 鈥淚鈥檓 sorry to bother, but is that鈥︹�� He didn鈥檛 mention her name, only raising his eyebrows in awe. I confirmed it was her. 鈥淲ow,鈥� he said. 鈥淛ust, wow.鈥�

Harila recounted her 2024 trip to Tibet to try and locate the missing climbers. Her fears that the bodies are located in one of two yawning crevasses were diminished by her own investigation: a climbing sherpa had survived the slide intact, and others found Lama鈥檚 backpack and Rzucidlo’s pants and shoes.

These days Harila is financially supporting Lama鈥檚 two sons, aged 15 and 18, and trying to get them to Norway to attend school. She told me about the charitable foundation she established in Norway, called the Lama Sherpa Foundation, which strives to create safety guidelines for mountain workers in Nepal. Harila hopes to someday create a third-party certification program for expedition companies, climbers, and high-altitude workers. 鈥淲e just need to do it safer, and in a better way,” she said.

She shared her dreams of having a farm in Norway and trying out other sports, like running and triathlon.

I felt somewhat awkward as I listened to Harila share her future hopes and dreams. Like many people in the climbing world, I had watched Harila’s life unravel over social media throughout late 2023 and 2024. The 2023 expedition made her famous, but after the K2 controversy Harila went through a painful breakup with her then-boyfriend, and that was followed by Lama鈥檚 death. Each event was personal and also public.

I asked if Harila felt her fame led to her being treated unfairly by media. 鈥淵eah, but not only because of all the people writing wrong things about me,” she said. “Of course I had like, maybe, 20,000 negative comments and hate threats on social media after K2.鈥�

She continued: 鈥淚 probably had more than 200 people write that they were coming to kill me. I have them every day, still. I still have nightmares about everything,” she said. “Today I woke up, and this is like, what comes in in social media, like every day.鈥�

She took out her phone and showed me a series of screenshots of inflammatory social media comments in Norwegian and English that proved her point. 鈥淧eople still believe the story, and this is like every day still,” she said.

But social media is a necessary evil in her life. Harila admitted that, these days, professional climbers cannot fund expeditions to 8,000-meter peaks without maintaining a healthy presence on social media sites like Instagram. Being an influencer is just part of the job鈥攁t best, Harila said, the platforms allow her to express herself directly to the world.

This final point reminded me of my first meeting with Harila鈥攊t was in the lobby of this same hotel in the summer of 2022, minutes after she had returned from her first successful ascent of 27,838-foot Makalu. At the time, Harila was sunburned, weary, and glowing, full of fire and conviction to show the world that women could climb just fast鈥攐r even faster鈥攖han men. At the time I was struck by her conviction and confidence: her expression of strength, demonstrated wholly, one cramponed foot step听at a time.

Less than three years later, the mountains appear to be a different force in Harila’s life: a place of mourning and vitriol; somewhere to acclimatize on the way to recover the bodies of close friends.

As we parted, Harila walked me into the polished marble lobby of the hotel where that British trekker in the green shirt waited. He told us about his upcoming hike to Everest Base Camp, a lifelong dream, and asked if he could take a selfie. I offered to take a few photos of them together. Posing against a plate-glass window, Harlia and the man beamed. He thanked her profusely, heaping her with praise. In that moment, I saw her light again.

鈥淪ee,鈥� she said. 鈥淪ome people still appreciate me.鈥�

Want to stay up on 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 2025 Everest Season coverage? Sign up for our听.

Ben Ayers has covered Mount Everest climbing season for听国产吃瓜黑料 since 2021. He is a filmmaker, journalist, and adventurer who splits his time between Vermont and Nepal. In 2016 he led an expedition to document the last harvest of wild cliff honey by Nepal’s Kulung Rai people for National Geographic.听

The post Kristin Harila Is Searching the Himalayas for Tenjen Sherpa鈥攁nd Solace appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Picture yourself in your office. Your phone buzzes with a text message: Time to go!听You sprint downstairs to a waiting taxi and zip to the airport, where you board an overnight flight to Kathmandu. You land, hop in a helicopter, and soar over the Himalayas to Mount Everest Base Camp, where Sherpas hook you up to oxygen. You and your guides climb the Khumbu Icefall, Western Cwm, Lhotse Face, and continue on to the summit, where you snap a triumphant selfie. You then descend 11,400 vertical feet back to Base Camp, where a helicopter whisks you to the airport, and you board your flight back home. One week after receiving the text, you’re back in your office.

Sounds like a scene from a science fiction movie, right?

In May, an Austrian mountaineer and guide named Lukas Furtenbach will oversee four paying clients on an Everest expedition that, door to door, will last just seven days. That’s about one-third the length of the speediest Everest expeditions currently offered by guiding companies. And it’s much shorter than most guided ascents of the world’s highest peak, which typically last anywhere from six to eight weeks. On those trips, climbers complete multiple acclimatization hikes up the mountain to adjust to the extreme altitude.

“Our type of expedition opens Mount Everest up to people who don’t have enough free time for the traditional experience,” Furtenbach told 国产吃瓜黑料. “We are confident they will summit. Our reputation is on the line, and our business would be impacted if we fail.”

All four clients are from the U.K., which means they will start their journeys at or near sea level. According to Furtenbach, each client is paying $153,000 for the trip.

So, what鈥檚 Furenbach鈥檚 secret to speed? In short, xenon gas. A few weeks before traveling to Nepal, Furtenbach’s clients will travel to a hospital in Germany where they will don a diving bell-like mask and inhale xenon gas. Studies have suggested that the odorless gas can protect vital organs from altitude sickness, while boosting the body’s production of erythropoietin, or EPO, the hormone that stimulates the production of red blood cells. When used alongside traditional at-home acclimatization methods, xenon gas can make the human body capable of withstanding Everest鈥檚 extreme altitudes, according to Furtenbach.

“We are doing this primarily for safety as a form of preventing altitude sickness,” Furtenbach says. “This is not about performance enhancement.”

The news of Furtenbach’s experimental tour caused a stir in the mountaineering world when , and in the ensuing weeks, the entire industry of guides and expedition operators . Some guides voiced their support of the experimental procedure, others chastised it, while others raised questions about safety. On January 22, the International Climbing and Mountaineering Federation, a global body that advocates on behalf of climbers, condemning the practice.

The ordeal has forced mountaineers and guides to revisit the ethics鈥攐r lack thereof鈥攖hat climbers follow on the world’s highest peak, and to ask themselves how far climbers should go to improve their changes of actually reaching the top, and who belongs on the peak.

“The old adage, 鈥楯ust because you can, doesn鈥檛 mean you should,鈥� applies in this context,” says mountaineer and longtime Everest chronicler Alan Arnette.

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On November 14, Jenni Lowe, president of the Alex Lowe Charitable Foundation (ALCF) and widow of climbing legend Alex Lowe, announced that the nonprofit she founded in his name will officially dissolve before the end of 2025. The nonprofit鈥檚 assets鈥攊ncluding the iconic Khumbu Climbing Center鈥攚ill go to the Juniper Fund, a Nepal-based charity helmed by celebrity mountaineers Melissa Arnot Reid and David Morton. Jenni Lowe first initiated the handoff process about a year ago.

鈥淚t just felt like time,鈥� she told 国产吃瓜黑料. 鈥淚鈥檓 approaching 70 years old, and I feel as though I鈥檓 ready to change direction in my life.鈥�

The ACLF has been a force of change in the Khumbu region of Nepal since its founding 25 years ago. Jenni Lowe initially launched the ALCF alongside leading alpinist Conrad Anker to help indigenous mountain communities and to honor her late husband, Alex Lowe, after he was killed in an avalanche on Shishapangma in 1999. At the time, Alex Lowe was considered one of the best alpinists of his generation, establishing bold first ascents in Antarctica, Baffin Island, and in the Himalaya. He was only 40 when he died, and he left three young sons behind.

The cornerstone of the ALCF鈥檚 work was The Khumbu Climbing Center, a facility that helps provide safety education to Sherpa guides and other members of indigenous climbing community. Together with Anker, Jenni Lowe helped build the KCC from the ground up. Since its launch in 2003, the facility has provided life-saving training to hundreds of climbers.

From here on out, the KCC will continue under the umbrella of the Juniper Fund, a well-regarded nonprofit that has worked alongside the ALCF for more than a decade. The Juniper Fund鈥檚 mission to support the families of Himalayan high-altitude workers, especially those grieving loved ones killed in the mountains, dovetails with that of the ALCF. That made the hand-off an easy decision, Lowe told 国产吃瓜黑料.

鈥淭he Juniper Fund does amazing work,鈥� Lowe said. 鈥淲hen I started the ALCF, I was this young widow, and I had deep compassion for the women over there who I saw as in my shoes. The Juniper Fund stepped in to provide support to those families in a beautiful way.鈥�

Lowe hopes the transfer of assets from the ALCF to the Juniper Fund will be complete by the end of 2025. That includes all monetary assets, the building that houses the KCC, and other resources. The ALCF鈥檚 board of directors will continue to be involved throughout this process, Lowe said.

Arnot Reid described the transfer as an opportunity to build on the Juniper Fund鈥檚 existing mission. But, she said, it鈥檚 important to emphasize that the KCC isn鈥檛 getting passed off, per se; it鈥檚 a powerful organization in its own right, and it鈥檚 simply getting a new financial backer.

鈥淭he KCC is run in Nepal by Nepalis, and it鈥檚 an incredibly successful and really well-run organization,鈥� Arnot Reid said. 鈥淭hey don鈥檛 need our intervention to run the incredible programs they already have; they just need our support financially and awareness-wise to continue to bring their mission to people who aren鈥檛 aware of it.鈥�

Arnot Reid said the Juniper fund is committed to supporting the KCC鈥檚 existing work and has no plans to alter or add to it at this time. Instead, the Juniper fund will work closely with the organization鈥檚 Nepali representatives and follow their lead.

But while the work will remain the same, Arnot Reid says Jenni Lowe鈥檚 leadership will certainly be missed.

鈥淛enni is a role model for me,鈥� Arnot Reid said. 鈥淪he worked really hard to make things happen in a space where people said it wasn鈥檛 possible, or 鈥榃e can鈥檛 do that,鈥� and she did it with grit.鈥�

That鈥檚 something Lowe is equally proud of: she said in her time at ALCF, the nonprofit accomplished more than she could have ever dreamed of.

鈥淚n the beginning, it was just a way for me to walk through the grief of losing Alex. I had no idea what I was getting into when I first started the foundation, but it was a huge gift to my life,鈥� Lowe told 国产吃瓜黑料. 鈥淚 love that community and I’ll miss them. But I feel satisfied and happy with what we鈥檝e done. It鈥檚 time to make my world a little smaller.鈥�

The post The Nonprofit Founded to Honor Alex Lowe Is Closing After 25 Years appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

There’s no perfect trip. Despite the best planning, the unexpected happens, like the ferry service doesn’t run the only day you need it, or you didn’t know that there are two German towns named Frankfurt.

We asked our longtime travel writers and editors to tell us about their most memorable travel mistakes, the ones that taught them a significant lesson or two. Some of their stories made us chuckle, and most were relatable. If you’ve ever been seriously sick while abroad, frustrated with others on a group trip, or ignorant of the rules of the road in some foreign locale, you’ll appreciate these sticky situations.

1. Desperately Seeking Arctic Apparel

While on my first and only small-ship cruise along the southeast Alaskan coastline one September, I was so excited for the adventures ahead that I mistakenly left my luggage on the airport conveyor belt. The shuttle picking me up transported my group directly to the Mendenhall Glacier for an initial hike before dropping us off at the dock for departure. The boat had set sail before I realized that I had nothing more than the clothes on my back for a chilly seven-day itinerary. I was mortified.

Thankfully, the ship captain and company owner raided the vessel鈥檚 supply closet and were able to deck me out with a staff T-shirt and sweatshirt. An angel fellow passenger loaned me an extra puffy and a few essential layers. Disaster averted, with the help of a few kind people. 鈥�Stephanie Pearson听

2. Double-Check That Google Maps Route

After skiing powder all day in the Alpine mecca of Chamonix, France, my husband and I grabbed a baguette and a hunk of cheese and hit the road in our rental Peugeot bound for Tignes, France, the next stop on our winter European road trip.

Still giddy from our time at the iconic resort, we didn鈥檛 consult Google Maps as closely as we should have. It navigated us east through the Mont Blanc Tunnel鈥攁 seven-mile-long feat of engineering that cuts through the massif and connects Chamonix to the neighboring ski town of Courmayeur on the Italian side. The one-way toll costs about $55. Baffled but believing in Google Maps, we continued to follow the directions and enjoyed the finest of scenic drives for another 30 minutes. Then the cobbled streets turned into a one-lane dirt road that soon dead-ended at a snowbank, with skiers cruising atop it.

There was nothing to do but turn around and try a different route, which, of course, directed us back through the tunnel (forcing us to pay again) and added several hours to a long day. But it made for a good story afterward. 鈥�Megan Michelson

3. Pack Back-Up Meds in Case You Get Sick

I habitually get sick in foreign countries. I鈥檝e suffered numerous bouts of strep throat while visiting family in Sweden, food poisoning on a rural train in northern India, and came down with scarlet fever on a five-day backpacking trip in the remote Alaskan bush. That last trip was a turning point for me. I now always carry antibiotics with me when I travel. 鈥�Emily Pennington

4. Why Overpreparing Isn鈥檛 a Bad Idea

I was invited to Nepal in 2003 to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the first ascent of Mount Everest. I signed up for a 30-day trip with an outfitter that took the scenic route from the steamy jungle up over a series of very high passes, including 19,100-foot Amphu Labtsa La, and back down into Tengboche, the original base camp for the 1953 climb, which was hosting a big celebration.

The trek was absolutely stunning and supremely remote. It was also nerve-wracking. Every day we had reports that Maoists were going to intercept us. That never happened, but incompetence among some in our own group proved to be far more dangerous.

The crux of the trip was an almost impossible ask: we had to summit a 鈥渕inor鈥� 17,000-foot pass, cross an ice field, and then get both up and down Amphu Labsta La鈥� all in a day.

I was toward the front of the group when I reached the top of Amphu Labsta La in the afternoon and took a gander at the descent. What I saw terrified me: a 50-degree slope of solid blue ice running at least 400 feet. Getting everyone down was going to be a huge ordeal, since not everyone could rappel on their own.

We ended up having to sleep atop the pass for two nights. Because much of the clients鈥� gear had been lowered with the porters after the initial night (everyone thought the full group would have rappelled down that day), we found ourselves stranded atop the peak with insufficient equipment. A quick tally revealed we had just three tents, three sleeping bags, and two sleeping pads for 11 people. Four of us piled into my three-person tent, and I spread my sleeping bag as best as I could over us. I didn鈥檛 sleep at all, just shivered and prayed a storm wouldn鈥檛 roll in. At first light, exhausted and pissed off at how miserable I鈥檇 been, I packed up, clipped into the rope down the pass, and rappelled myself, not waiting for anyone to lower me. You can bet I partied my ass off when we finally got to Tengboche. 鈥�Tim Neville

6. Bugged Out

Failing to zip my backpack after sleeping outside in the jungle of Panama had me toting not one, not two, but three massive (and I mean massive) cockroaches with me back to the Panama City hotel where I stayed the night at before my flight home. Between the surprise discovery and the aftermath of dealing with them, I got zero sleep and am still haunted to this day. 鈥�Stephanie Vermillion

7. Renting a Car in a Foreign Country Can Come with Pricey Curveballs

In 2019, my wife and I bought cheap tickets to Milan, rented a Fiat, and road-tripped through northern Italy. It was thrilling to speed on the mountainous highways and cruise through quaint villages via winding roads that topped out on ridgelines with views of the Mediterranean below. Because it was spring, there were few tourists, so we鈥檇 simply park, walk around visiting a plaza or ancient buildings and churches, and continue on. It was all perfect鈥攗ntil we got home.

On a monthly basis, I started getting fines in the mail鈥攆or improper parking, speeding, and driving in restricted residential areas without the requisite permit. At first I thought this was a mistake. Then I realized that every fine was in the place we鈥檇 visited that day.

After paying hundreds of Euros in penalties, I swore off ever traveling to Italy again. I took to retelling the story of my travails to any Italian who would listen, only to discover this is a common occurrence. One Italian told me that when he returns home, he borrows his mom鈥檚 car, breaks countless rules, and racks up ticket after ticket.

My stance on Italy has since softened, but I still get occasional fines in the mail. I refuse to pay them and try to view them as mementos of one of the best trips of my life. 鈥�Ryan Krogh

8. Start Earlier than You Think You Need To

Lesson one: Don鈥檛 underestimate the approach to a backcountry cabin. My friends and I had booked the Eiseman, a popular Tenth Mountain Division hut in the Gore Range outside Vail, Colorado, and getting there required a six-mile ski tour with nearly 3,000 feet of elevation gain. No problem, we thought. We were a hardy crew of experienced backcountry skiers.

What we didn鈥檛 consider was that April鈥檚 warming temperatures had turned the snowpack to mush. Combined with a later than expected afternoon departure, the soft, sticky snow glommed to our skins, making travel considerably slow and challenging.

Lesson two: Less is more in the backcountry. We naively stuffed our packs with margarita fixings, avocados, jars of salsa, a foam roller. Needless to say, the ski in took twice as long as expected鈥攚e didn鈥檛 get to the hut until after dark鈥攁nd half our crew ended up dropping gear there and returning to lighten the load of the slower folks. We were a total junk show. That said, the taco party sure was fun. 鈥拟.惭.

9. The Pitfalls of an Undocumented Pilgrim

When I thru-hiked Spain鈥檚 Camino de Santiago, I carried the obligatory pilgrim鈥檚 passport鈥攁 thin leaflet littered with official stamps, tucked in a protective plastic bag. It proved I鈥檇 walked what amounted to nearly a marathon a day, and it was also my ticket into cheap albergues: glorified hostels reserved solely for pilgrims, where I could soak my feet, thread blisters, rinse my clothes, and crash hard before rising to repeat it all again.

But one day near the end of the trek, in Galicia, a massive storm rolled in while I was eating a sandwich on the side of the road. I hastily repacked my gear and booked the remaining four miles to the nearest town. When I arrived at the albergue that evening, soaking wet and exhausted, I couldn鈥檛 find my pilgrim鈥檚 passport, and no pleading with the check-in lady in Spanish would persuade her to give me a bunk without it.

So I retraced my steps, blisters bursting, leg muscles screaming, my head hammered by hail, until I found it blown up against a fence near where I鈥檇 stopped for lunch. I never misplaced that passport again. 鈥�Patty Hodapp

10. A Different Kind of Wildlife-Watching

Last year on an off-trail backpacking trip to Wrangell鈥揝t. Elias National Park, I learned the importance of carrying two to three days of extra food in Alaska. My group was dropped off by a bush plane for a five-day expedition and halfway through the trip, an adolescent grizzly bear ran off with one of our bear cans packed with food. We had to ration supplies for our remaining time, but fortunately, our resourceful guide cobbled together some pretty creative and delicious meals for the final two days. 鈥抬.笔.

11. A Case for the Carry-on

At the check-in counter for my flight to Germany, where I鈥檇 be joining friends to climb in the , I noticed that airline personnel were chatting as they tagged bags. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: Always look at the tag before your bag sails away. But I didn鈥檛.

I arrived in Nuremberg to watch an unfamiliar duffle bag circle around on the carousel, while someone in Newfoundland was looking at mine. I was in northern Bavaria in late autumn, with no sleeping bag, tent, or puffy jacket. I did have my climbing shoes and harness in my carry-on, so I went on to a house in nearby Erlangen owned by extremely generous German climbers, who were letting some of our group occupy their basement.

When I explained my dilemma to the leading free climber (RIP and bless him forever), he shrugged, waved me toward his closet, and told me to take any of his clothes. There was only one problem: I鈥檓 five foot seven, while he was easily six foot one. I wore his stuff for two days. 鈥�Alison Osius

12. Frostbite Has Never Felt So Imminent

When I camped on the Greenland Ice Sheet two years ago, I learned the hard way to test my gear before bringing it on a trip. I brought 鈥渨aterproof gloves鈥� that actually weren鈥檛 waterproof at all. My hands were soaked and freezing within minutes of pitching my tent in a very wet, cold snowstorm. It was 14 degrees out. The next morning I had to thaw the gloves over the mess-tent cookstove. 鈥擲.V.

13. Tetotaling at Elevation

Alcohol and altitude don鈥檛 mix, a rule of thumb that took me two notable times in my life to learn. Once I flew from New York City (sea level) to Vail, Colorado, (8,239 feet) for a fun trip with a friend who was writing a story about a professional skier. The skier was going to take us all around the mountain to his favorite spots. The night before, I enjoyed two large glasses of red wine at dinner but had failed to drink much water that day. I woke up nauseous at 2 A.M., threw up for the next three hours, and missed the ski tour.

The second time I was in Chile鈥檚 Atacama Desert, located at 8,200 feet. I was staying at a gorgeous lodge with fantastic food and wine. This was a few years after Vail, and I had long forgotten that incident. So when the beautiful Chilean cabernet was served at dinner, I drank it, but I was hugging the porcelain again early the next morning. I missed an amazing hike up a volcano. Suffice it to say I now don鈥檛 drink at altitude and focus on hydrating instead. 鈥�Mary Turner

14. Tiny Things That Bite When You Least Expect It

I was working for the student newspaper at Montana State University when I got a fax announcing ridiculously low airfare to Costa Rica for spring break, so my brother, girlfriend, and I all went down there to dirtbag it for a week. We were poor, so we packed hammocks, intending to string them between trees on the beach and sleep there.

We made our way to Montezuma, on the Nicoya Peninsula, which back then had one restaurant and a few houses on sandy 鈥渟treets.鈥� It was pitch-black when we arrived at the beach, and none of us had a headlamp. My feet felt wet as we crossed what must have been a small stream slipping out of the jungle through leaves. But then the sensation changed and my legs and feet exploded in what felt like fire.

鈥淎nts!鈥� my brother yelled. We鈥檇 stumbled right into either a nest or a train of fire ants that proceeded to bite the piss out of our legs. There was nothing to do but strip down and race for the ocean, which we also couldn鈥檛 see. Waking up to howler monkeys and swimming the next morning made everything right. 鈥擳.狈.

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