From a distance, the Himalayas appear eternal—majestic peaks piercing the sky, shrouded in snow and silence. But beneath their postcard perfection lies a truth far more unsettling. The Himalayas are changing—rapidly, dangerously, and perhaps irreversibly.
As glaciers melt, ecosystems shift, and traditional climbing routes become unstable, Nepal’s mountaineering industry—a vital pillar of its economy and identity—now teeters at a precarious crossroads.
At the recent Sagarmatha Sambaad, the theme “Climate Change, Mountains, and the Future of Humanity” cast a grim spotlight on the rapidly evolving crisis. Nepal’s Minister for Forests and Environment, Ain Bahadur Shahi Thakuri, said,“These mountains are now on the frontline of a rapidly intensifying climate emergency.”
Often called the “Third Pole,” the Himalayas house the largest volume of ice outside the Arctic and Antarctic. This frozen reserve—Earth’s cryosphere—feeds the rivers that sustain nearly two billion people across South Asia. Yet, as global temperatures rise, this critical water source is vanishing. A recent study showed that glaciers in the eastern Himalayas are retreating at an alarming rate.
“What begins in the mountains ripples downstream,” Thakuri warned. “The fate of humanity is intertwined with the fate of these mountains.” Every spring, hundreds of climbers descend on Nepal with one ambition: to conquer Sagarmatha, the world’s highest peak. For many, summiting Sagarmatha is the ultimate badge of honor, a feat of endurance and courage. For Nepal, it’s also a crucial economic engine. In the spring 2025 season alone, the government issued climbing permits to 456 climbers from 57 countries, generating over Rs 676m in royalties from Sagarmatha. The total revenue from 26 peaks, including Lhotse, Makalu, and Annapurna, exceeded Rs 773m.
But Sagarmatha is changing, and not just in popularity. The Khumbu Glacier—home to the iconic base camp—is retreating by more than a meter every year. A 2022 scientific assessment even recommended relocating the base camp due to the increasing instability of the ice. Crevasses now open earlier in the season. The “death zone,” already perilous, is now compounded by unpredictable weather patterns and melting permafrost. The mountain is no longer what it once was—neither in form nor in spirit.
For many climbers, Sagarmatha no longer symbolizes adventure, but excess. The commercialization of the climb has led to an influx of “tourist climbers”—individuals who may lack adequate experience or preparation but are eager to reach the summit, often at any cost.
Nepal’s current mountaineering policy allows anyone to climb Sagarmatha analyzing their physical or technical ability. The only formal requirement is that climbers must climb 7,000 meters mountain before climbing Sagarmatha. However, in practice, enforcement is often lax, and underprepared climbers continue to receive permits.
In spring 2025, over 1,100 climbing permits were issued. The infamous 2019 photo of a human queue snaking toward the summit remains etched in public memory. “The mountain is littered with garbage, human waste, and even the bodies of those who never made it down,” says Purnima Shrestha, a renowned Nepali climber and photojournalist. “Not all the people there are physically and emotionally ready to climb the peak. That is being disrespectful to Sagarmatha.”
From 1950 to 2023, at least 353 climbers died on Sagarmatha. The deadliest years—2023 (18 deaths), 2014 (17), and 1996 (15)—were marked by avalanches, collapsing icefalls, and extreme weather events. All are exacerbated by climate change, according to Himalayan Database.
Avalanches have claimed 78 lives, falls have taken 75, and altitude sickness has led to 46 deaths. The cost of rescue missions is escalating. So are insurance premiums and operational logistics. Many Sherpas now refuse certain routes that were once considered routine. “We are playing roulette with nature,” says Pasang Sherpa, a senior guide who has summited Sagarmatha nine times. “There are places we used to trust that we now fear.”
Renowned mountaineer and Guinness World Record holder Mingma David Sherpa stressed the urgent need for better regulation and preparedness in high-altitude climbing. “Climbers must have technical knowledge before attempting any major ascent,” he said. “Only those with prior high-altitude experience should be granted permission to climb.”
While the risks are growing, so are the innovations to address them. One notable development this season is the use of xenon gas treatments to aid climbers in coping with altitude sickness. Furtenbach Adventures, a high-end expedition company, introduced the method after months of training and hypoxia acclimatization in Europe.
“The only reason why we are working with xenon is to make climbing safer, to protect climbers from high altitude sickness,” said company founder Lukas Furtenbach upon his return to Kathmandu. “This may be one step to improve the situation to make climbing high altitude mountains safer.” While the treatment was administered in Germany before the expedition, Nepal’s mountaineering authorities have launched an inquiry into its use to ensure climber safety and ethical standards.
“We are committed to protecting the natural beauty of our peaks and helping local communities grow alongside the spirit of adventure,” said Nepal’s Tourism Minister Badri Prasad Pandey. But he added that regulation must evolve alongside the industry.
Meanwhile, initiatives to improve mountain sustainability have struggled to move beyond discussion. One such proposal, presented by ICIMOD, suggested that each major mountain be given a “one-year rest” period to recover from the environmental toll of human activity—including waste, overuse, and trail degradation. But despite its strong focus on pollution control and garbage management, the idea remains stalled at the discussion level, with no concrete implementation to date.
Dipendra Gurung, communication officer at the Nepal Mountaineering Association (NMA), shared concerns about the current state of mountain waste management. “Garbage management was previously handled entirely by the NMA,” he said. “But over the past two years, Nepal Army has taken responsibility.” However, this year, their involvement hasn’t been visible either.”
Gurung explained the logistical and financial challenges involved. “It takes a significant amount of funding to carry out proper cleanup operations. We are doing what we can with limited resources, but bringing all the waste—and in some cases, even dead bodies—down to lower altitudes is extremely difficult.”
Sagarmatha Pollution Control Committee (SPCC), a local organization based in the Khumbu region, plays a key role in managing waste generated by climbers. The SPCC monitors how much garbage each expedition team takes up the mountain and ensures that an equivalent amount is brought back down. If climbers return with less waste than they were registered to carry, they are fined according to the committee’s waste management policy. This system is designed to discourage dumping and promote accountability on the mountain.
Nepal’s economy leans heavily on tourism, particularly mountaineering and trekking. Thousands of porters, guides, hoteliers, and service workers depend on seasonal climbing income. But with increasing climate volatility, the very bedrock of this industry is cracking.
Glacial lake outburst floods (GLOFs) pose a catastrophic threat. One such flood could wipe out entire villages, bridges, and key trekking routes. The infrastructure built over decades could vanish in minutes. And yet, Nepal remains one of the world’s lowest carbon emitters—contributing just 0.57 tons of CO₂ per capita in 2023, far below the global average of 6.76. Despite this, it bears a disproportionate brunt of climate impacts.
Nepal is not watching this disaster unfold passively. Through frameworks like the National Adaptation Plan (NAP) and Local Adaptation Plans of Action (LAPAs), the government is empowering grassroots efforts—especially among women and Indigenous groups who have long been custodians of mountain ecology.
Community forestry programs have flourished. Women’s cooperatives are promoting climate-smart agriculture. Young entrepreneurs are designing eco-lodges, clean trekking initiatives, and sustainable tourism models that merge tradition with innovation.
One such effort is “Clean Himalaya,” a Sherpa-led waste collection campaign that retrieves several tons of garbage from Sagarmatha each year. Another is “Green Peak,” a startup that offers biodegradable gear to reduce mountaineering’s environmental footprint.
The Himalayas have long been more than just a geographic landmark. They are the spine of Asia, the source of sacred rivers, the abode of gods, and the mirror of our planetary health. The melting of these mountains is not a distant problem. It demands global cooperation, corporate responsibility, and individual restraint. The mountain economy must be reimagined—not just for profit, but for preservation.
