The formidable Mount Everest— the tallest mountain and home to a number of the world’s highest glaciers— has long been a source of wonder and the pinnacle test of human strength and capability. For many mountaineers, it’s their ultimate crown of accomplishment. And for others, it’s their ultimate grave.
A recent collection of essays published in the Minnesota Review explores the theme of climbing and dying on Everest. The series includes articles from anthropologist Young Hoon Oh’s “Dying Differently: Sherpa and Korean Mountaineers on Everest,” and philosopher Margret Grebowicz’s “The Problem of Everest: Upward Mobility and the Time of Climbing.” As Nicola Masciandaro, the editor of the collection, describes in her brief introduction, “life and climbing are vitally linked in ways that demand our fresh attention.”
These two essays offer distinct yet complementary approaches to what is essentially a question of the meaning of life and death through the perspective of climbing. By analyzing how the human pursuit of climbing the world’s tallest mountain reflects upon life itself, Oh and Grebowicz contemplate the quintessential question of life through the context of mountaineering.
As Grebowicz contextualizes in her essay, Western fascination with Everest began in the late 1910s, but failure after failure marked the earliest attempts at summiting the peak until Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay’s legendary ascent in 1953. Sir John Hunt, leader of that infamous expedition, wrote in his memoir of the mountain and the “possibility of entering the unknown.”
Advances in technology have enabled more people to attempt the perilous Everest trek than ever before. Last year, over 650 people climbed the mountain, with 61 percent of those leaving the base camp reaching the summit. Even so, death on the glacierized peaks remains all too common with a recorded 288 total people having died on the mountain between 1921 and 2017. According to a Washington Post article from 2016, over 200 bodies are scattered across the glaciers of Mt. Everest.
These fatalities have not deterred adventurers; the busy spring season at Everest has been littered with expeditions large and small in recent years, as noted in Oh’s article. And what was previously considered unknown is now heavily commercialized, notes Grebowicz. In her essay, she describes how Everest has “become symbolic of a world used up by humans: crawling with amateur adventurers who can afford it and littered with the corpses of those who do not make it down.”
Many of these bodies remain in plain sight. But even those in plain sight often can’t be safely retrieved. Removing the bodies for a proper burial is dangerous and expensive, ranging from $30,000 to $70,000, as Grebowicz points out. And then there are the bodies of those who went missing climbing Everest that have yet to be found. These abandoned, buried bodies harken back to Hunt’s mystical Everest that will gladly remind the climber that they are at the mercy of the mountain’s brutal altitude and wildness.
Through a philosopher’s lens, Grebowicz discusses in her essay how these deaths often happen out of a desire to reach the summit, which blinds people to their surroundings and others around them. She shares an interesting distinction between the mountaineers and the summiteers, just as sports philosopher Pam Sailors proposed in her 2010 article: While summiteers are goal-driven, self-knowledge seeking, and demonstrative of self-indulgence to the point of disregard for others, mountaineers are more process-oriented, find knowledge through the journey, and often forfeit their bid in order to help others.
Turning to Oh’s essay, he reflects on his personal summit attempt of Everest in 2015. During his two-year ethnographic study of Sherpa communities in northeastern Nepal, Oh participated in nine mountaineering expeditions in total, including three on Everest. His prolonged stay in the region and expertise in mountaineering dictates his familiarity with the climbing cultures and mountains.
Oh had nine friends who died on Himalayan peaks during his research period, some of whom died on expeditions in which Oh was a fellow climbing member. In his essay, he highlights the deaths of a Sherpa and a Korean colleague through the different cultural perceptions of death on the mountain with his combined perspective of cultural anthropology and mountaineering. Of particular interest to Oh is the jovial response of Sherpas towards the death of Temba and its stark contrast to the more meditative reaction his fellow Korean expedition experienced regarding the sudden death of their colleague, Seong-Ho Seo. In addition to a fascinating comparison between Korean and Sherpa perspectives of death and climbing, one of the primary questions he asks is “If reactions to death differ so starkly, what do we know of death, and how does the knowing of death affect climbing?”
His answer lies in the exploration of climbing as a metaphor for life. Similar to Grebowicz’s essay, Oh touches on the parallels between climbing as sport and the game of life, which he calls “the existential irony of mountaineering.” People go up against death in order to survive the mountain. As he articulates in his essay, “Though no Sherpa or Korean would climb to die, the reality of death, magnified and elaborated by the concrete realities of mountain landscapes, inspires both Sherpas and Koreans to risk their lives on Himalayan peaks.”
The danger associated with Everest is what, in many ways, appeals to climbing. As a by-chance observer of death, Oh shared with GlacierHub in an interview how his own views of death and climbing transformed during his research. “Climbers stronger and more experienced than me died, while climbing the same mountain. This made me realize, among others, the vicinity of death to life and the hollow barrier between the two,” Oh said. “But I still found myself wishing to climb.”