The Roof of the World
Ren spent years preparing for Mount Everest. He painstakingly planned every expense in order to save up the enormous sum of money needed for his expedition. Five years of his meager salary, he calculated, would cover all the equipment, supplies, guides, permits, plane tickets, hotel stays, insurance, and additional means to lead him to the summit of the world’s highest peak. Although he was willing to toil away for half a decade, he came across a part-time opportunity that would reduce this wait time to three years. Buoyed by this additional resource, he discussed his ambition with family members a few days after his thirtieth birthday. They granted their full support without much trepidation in the room. He then set his plans in motion, working tirelessly to earn his attempt at personal glory, while devoting most of his spare time to preparation. He pored over every crucial detail, from the most adequate boots, crampons, expedition-grade down suit, and helmet, to the most recommended climbing techniques and strategies for conserving energy during the journey. Over time, a legend of his dedication grew within his circle of friends. Ren read books about mountaineering, and directly consulted with experts, whether online or in person. One of his friends recounts having accompanied him to another city a two-hour drive away in order to catch a mountaineering expert at a book signing, only to ask her a couple of questions about the consistency of snow at the Khumbu Icefall. They drove back home the same day. Ren beamed with joy behind the wheel with the answers he received. The overwhelming amount of knowledge required did very little to deter him, and before long, his research turned towards atmospheric conditions in the Himalayas. It even covered the effects of the surging population of mountaineers at basecamp. Ren had come to realize that weather patterns and numbers of climbers remained difficult to predict in any upcoming April-to-May climbing season, much less three years ahead. Unlike other climbers, he could not afford more than one week of reprieve from work during his preparation, nor could he pick a climbing season at the last minute should conditions suddenly become favorable. After much deliberation, and fueled by countless inspiring stories of sacrifice and achievement at the top of what the locals call Sagarmatha, he accepted that the three-year goal he had committed to would not give in to any delays or changes. Ren, at thirty years of age, known to eat healthily, to exercise five times a week, resolved to take on any set of conditions that awaited him on Mount Everest; whether ideal as he would have preferred, or disastrous as he would ultimately encounter.
The plane landed in Kathmandu on the third of April. Ren spent the first three days meeting his expedition team and getting acquainted with his new environment. The group consisted of two sherpas, four porters, and seven climbers. A considerable range of climbing operations catered to different types of clients, from the very beginner to the professional, and for those demanding the most opulent experience, to those just hoping to make it to the top. Ren had opted for something which would provide him just enough assistance during the challenging trek without any extravagances. The company he chose provided the tents, most of the prepared meals, and crucially, enough oxygen tanks to take him to the summit. Strolling through the bustling narrow streets near the city center, Ren arrived at the expedition company office a bit earlier than the other clients, where he was greeted by the office staff. Pemba, one of the sherpas, remembers Ren’s interactions with a group of children playing Chungi in the street, a game that uses a makeshift ball of rubber bands. He and Ren were chatting outside as a couple more more clients showed up, when the Chungi ball was kicked astray in Ren’s direction. He kicked it back before being invited to join in, and enthusiastically accepted, laughing along with the children at his clumsy maneuvers. Barely able to keep the ball in play, he kept accidentally kicking it beyond the reach of the player he meant to pass it to, inciting more laughter with each attempt. When he excused himself from the game, the children collectively urged him to continue. Pemba later remembered this scene very well: “The children were very happy to play Chungi with him. After that, Ren crossed the street to buy ice cream for all of them. They sat down together to eat with their new friend. They were all laughing together like they knew each other for a long time.” When the last of the climbers finally arrived, the group conducted its first meeting in the office where new acquaintances would be made, and a first of many orientation sessions were to be provided. Expedition groups such as this one expected to spend ample time together. The seven climbers who came from five different countries greeted each other and exchanged pleasantries over tea and lakhamari, a sweet crunchy bread that introduced most of them to Nepalese food culture. Among the group of climbers was Devin, a man in his forties, who clearly recalls his first encounter with Ren. When Devin learned that his new climbing companion worked full-time as a social worker in a community center for the elderly, he commented how his own job as a manager in a consulting company wasn’t nearly as meaningful. With a huge smile and a warm tone, Ren immediately responded: “Ah, but you can make it meaningful.”
On the sixth of April, the group took an early morning flight to Lukla, whose airport’s reputation as being the most dangerous in the world usually provoked nervous laughter from some climbers, as well as bold declarations of fearlessness from others. Battling the crosswinds and navigating the mountainous ledges, the plane executed a rough but decisive landing upon which the group reportedly erupted in cheers, as if a first milestone in their adventure had been achieved. Pemba and the other sherpa Norbu were quick to tease their clients about greater challenges ahead. As they disembarked and grabbed their belongings, they met up with the four porters that would accompany them on their adventure. They were immediately briefed on porter etiquette, in which clients were expected to yield to porters walking at a faster pace. Saying “porter on your right” when noticing this from behind was customary. The assembled expedition group then kicked off their days-long hike to Everest Base Camp, beginning at two thousand and eight-hundred meters above sea level, and ending up at over five thousand meters. The path to the world’s highest mountain led them through the rugged terrain of the Khumbu region, where rivers and forested valleys eventually gave way to alpine views. After passing through the village of Dingboche, they crossed the timber line, where the first glimpses of snow appeared near the path. The prominent peaks of Ama Dablam, Lhotse, and Everest came into view, like giants overseeing the Himalayas. Throughout this leg of the journey, Ren often joked with Devin and the other climbers, whose native language Ren attempted to learn through basic greetings. He was seen offering water to them whenever they showed signs of fatigue. Ren himself didn’t show any excessive signs of exertion, and was often seen taking point, right up until he was unsure where next to proceed. During those moments, Pemba and Norbu often observed him transfixed by the sight of Mount Everest for many minutes at a time. Norbu would later recount: “It was like he was studying the mountain whenever he had the chance.”
The group arrived at Everest Base Camp on the ideal date of the fourteenth of April. A summit attempt would occur a few weeks later, within the most permissible weather of the entire year. Late May usually offered the warmest temperatures. This period, doted with a reduced risk of avalanches, is also known to have a lower chance of hurricane-force winds, given the jet stream which passes directly on top of Everest during the winter veers further to the North. This brief window of favorable climbing conditions also meant that more climbers queued up for the summit. The human congestion, inconvenient to all, also brought upon fatal consequences in the Death Zone, the final part of the ascent above eight thousand meters in which the body begins to die from the low levels of oxygen. This especially occurred on the more popular South Col route from Nepal. When climbers generally set off for their summit attempt at around midnight from Camp Four, the final camp located just below the Death Zone, they both encountered and generated an obscenely condensed bottleneck through the fateful segments of the Balcony, South Summit, and Hilary Step, whose narrower passages and technical aspects forced everyone to line up as if they were waiting to purchase concert tickets. Whereas a climber’s pace would normally have only been limited by the body’s own capacity, that pace would slow down to a halt upon encountering the highest queue in the world. At times, they would stand exposed to the elements for hours, waiting for the person in front of them to take the next step, who in turn was waiting for the person in front of them to take the next step. This overcrowding kept people lingering in the Death Zone longer than anticipated, and cost lives. In response, the Nepalese government decided to curtail the number of climbing permits issued per season. By the time Ren arrived at Base Camp, where he would have been able to admire in full the mountain’s towering presence, he found himself part of a more modest turnout during the April-May climbing season. Pemba had briefed the team on their fortunate circumstances with regards to less people flocking to Everest that year. He however cautioned them of the severe risks associated with irregular and unpredictable weather patterns near the top. This, even in late May, when they would be making their final push.
On their first evening in Base Camp, the group filled one of the communal tents for an official briefing led by Jade, a professional mountaineer stationed there for the season. Jade had summited Everest countless times and knew firsthand the intricacies of taking on this challenge. She explained how the group would be adjusting to the new altitude at Base Camp for a few days, after which they would accomplish two acclimatization rotations of at least one week each. This would follow with a rest period back on Base Camp, and only then culminate with a summit push lasting a few days. The first rotation aimed to bring them up to Camps One and Two and back to Base Camp, while the second rotation would take them even higher to Camp Three. The rest period that followed would allow them to recuperate for a few days while they waited for a favorable weather window to open up. Aside from understanding important aspects such as camping protocols and oxygen management, safety remained the primary focus. Dangers presented themselves from the Khumbu icefall located immediately beyond Base Camp, to the last stretches in the Death Zone. Jade emphasized that rescue efforts could be as treacherous as the climb itself, and that every climber became wholly responsible for their own body, especially in the Death Zone. There were many corpses beyond Camp Four, where climbers were most vulnerable to altitude sickness and hypothermia. A person stranded and unable to walk at that altitude was almost guaranteed death, because no able-bodied human or group of humans could bring someone else down without placing themselves in mortal danger. Walking past dying fellow climbers was a grim but acceptable practice. The team acknowledged this, and confirmed with the expedition leaders that they would follow all safety protocols and remain vigilant about their own body’s responses to the high altitude. Following the briefing, the expedition team enjoyed a hefty meal of Dal Bhat, a Nepalese staple of rice, vegetable curry, and lentil soup, followed by some pizza. Carbohydrate loading was a top priority during the expedition. For climbers, it presented the only occasion to indulge in high-calorie foods; not as a guilty treat, but as a necessary measure for success. As night approached, the group felt quite at ease from a day’s hike and a heavy meal. They opened up about their reasons for summiting. Most of them repeated the age-old mantra of challenging oneself, enthusiastic yet self aware of the cliche. When Devin turned to Ren and asked him his reasons, he looked at the group and spoke calmly. The challenge, he remarked, had already begun three years ago when he committed to a second job, and saved as much as he could for the expedition costs. In his answer to the group, he concluded that these few weeks on the mountain amounted to the tail end of years of sacrifice. He had taken much of his time away from family and friends, with the singular goal of demonstrating to himself and to others what someone is capable of achieving with the right amount of determination. The expedition team absorbed Ren’s words for a brief moment, before Devin broke the silence, “If you can’t make it to the summit, we will carry you up there!”.
Their rotation phase began the next day, on the fifteenth of April. They first confronted one of the route’s most dangerous segments, the Khumbu Icefall, a glacier of shifting ice seracs and crevasses. Navigating this icy labyrinth required many hours of vigilance and expertise. In certain passages where climbers had no choice but to cross a deep crevasse, a system of ladders and ropes was installed to bridge the gap. The team stayed alert, keeping their exchanges to a minimum, as a result, no incidents occurred during their multiple crossings through this moving glacier. Beyond the Khumbu Icefall, snow became a permanent fixture, but the journey from Camp One to Camp Two didn’t prove too challenging aside from a steepening mountain side which brought them to a higher elevation. They managed to repeat the entire process during their second rotation, taking it one step further to Camp Three. No climber had experienced any altitude sickness up to that point. Everyone remained motivated and disciplined throughout each passing challenge. Despite all of them appearing in good spirits, Devin, who shared a tent with Ren, noticed how his fellow climber’s humor subdued. It was as if his attention was wholly drawn to the experience of climbing. Devin thought about Ren’s three-year journey to get to Everest, and hoped that the window of favorable weather in late May would be open long enough for his friend to make it to the peak.
When the time came for the summit push on the twenty-third of May, the team set off from Base Camp once more, this time with the singular goal of trekking all the way up to the top of the mountain. This was to be it. There would be no more back and forth journeys; only the path upwards towards personal glory, to a vantage point that dwarfed all its surroundings as far as the eye could see. What awaited was a lifetime dream for many, and a years-long pursuit for others. The highest mountain above sea level beckoned those who desired more of themselves, while never making them any promises. Relinquishing its inhospitable environment for a few short weeks, it welcomed anyone adventurous enough to see it, and tested anyone audacious enough to conquer it. Through its harsh, and at times unpredictable weather, Mount Everest decided when its guests would grace its summit, and when they would suffer for daring to try.
They arrived at Camp Four on the twenty-sixth of May. All of them were still in good physical condition, excited, and ready for the final push. After indulging in a hardy meal of Dal Bhat, they did their best to rest up despite the inevitable surge of adrenaline that climbers experienced at that stage. They witnessed another group of climbers from a different team preparing for their own summit push that very night, and in doing so caught a glimpse of their own future. The group that was gearing up left at around eleven thirty, as per the usual schedule for a final summit push. Maximizing the amount of time spent trekking to the summit and back to Camp Four during daylight hours was crucial, for it reduced exposure to the cold while affording the best visibility. It was around seven thirty in the morning the next day when Pemba received an urgent message from Base Camp: an unexpected storm was approaching the mountain from the Northwest. Pemba took note of its estimated arrival time, and was told the storm may only last a few hours, despite registering violent winds that could bring temperatures down to extreme levels. Pemba addressed the team with the news, and reassured them that a summit push was still a strong possibility that evening. His advice was for everyone to inspect their tents and hunker down when the storm broke at camp. The climbers accepted these developments without any complaints, and focussed on bracing themselves for the impending attack.
The massive wall of wind and snow struck the camp at approximately ten forty-five that morning. Ren and his companions sheltered throughout a morning and afternoon of howling winds, which blew on the tents with such unrelenting force that the occupants had to remain in a lying position in order to keep them anchored to the ground. Stretched out as they were, they glanced up at the shaking canvas, hoping it kept its integrity for the duration of the storm. Devin remembers seeing Ren fast asleep despite the cacophony. “I couldn’t believe it,” he later reminisced. “We were dealing with the strongest winds any of us have ever lived through, and here was this guy sleeping next to me like a baby.” The winds began to subside at around four in the afternoon, and within minutes, the entire ordeal was over as if it had never happened. The group exited their tents, dazed and bewildered, and saw a gigantic white and grey wall traveling away towards the Southeast. What it left in its trail were a clean sheet of snow across the even areas of the mountainside, and a clear blue sky infused with the warm ochre tones of the late afternoon sun. The team was elated to still have a shot at glory that evening.
On the twenty-seventh of May, Ren left Camp Three for the summit. He was seen leaving ahead of the others at approximately eleven twenty at night. Pemba had decided to stay in the back of the group. He allowed Ren to take point, confident that the installed ropes and line of climbers from another group ahead would guide him to the right path. The stillness of the clear starry sky was punctuated by the gesticulating torchlights of ascending climbers, inching towards the peak which still remained out of view. Within ten to twelve hours, Ren would be reaching his goal. His oxygen mask tightly fastened, he maintained the slow but steady pace required to keep one’s stamina while minimizing one’s time in the Death Zone. His climb was still quicker than the others, for he distanced himself from the climber below by at least a half hour. As the night wore on, and as dawn eventually began unveiling its first light, Ren purportedly remained right on schedule. He conquered the steep climb of the Triangular Face before proceeding to the Balcony, whose relatively flat and leveled surface allowed for some rest. He conquered the South Summit, a steep passage that could be briefly mistaken for the peak. Then he found me, lying on my right side, half encased in the snow that had been blown a few hours before.
In my foolhardiness, I had left Camp Four on my own the previous day. My sherpa, who needed to stay back to look after other clients in my team, trusted my level of experience. He, like Pemba, knew that there would be patches of climbers ahead of me to help me confirm the correct path to the top. I had successfully summited without too much difficulty, and was in the midst of my descent back to Camp Four when the brief but violent storm caught me completely off guard between the Hilary Step and the South Summit. Blinded by the gale-force winds that filled the air with snow and ice particles, I sheltered in place for hours, forcing myself to move my limbs in order to avoid losing consciousness and succumbing to the minus sixty degree celsius cold. The storm may not have lasted long, but it stranded those who made the push the previous night, scattered between the summit and Camp Four. When the winds abated, two climbers had died. The remainder managed to resume their descent, all of them to the point of complete exhaustion. None of them were able to help me. My oxygen had run out. I was alone, half conscious and barely able to move, at over eight thousand and seven hundred meters of elevation. While my mind gradually drifted away, Ren leaned towards me and shook my left shoulder, jolting me back to reality. I suddenly remembered where I was and how desperate my situation had become. He asked me if I could get up. Somehow, I managed to utter a response through my parched throat, beaten by the weather.
“I don’t know.”
He removed his oxygen mask and placed it firmly on my face, telling me to breathe. Within a few minutes, I could feel myself regaining more of my alertness, which drew my attention to a throbbing headache and chest pain. Ren looked directly into my eyes.
“We need to get you to Camp Four”.
He fastened his oxygen mask to my head, and propped my torso up in the snow, asking me if I could stand up. Trying my very best to ignore the pain, I repeated that I didn’t know.
“Let’s stand up together.”
Ren moved behind me, grabbed my two arms below the shoulders and using an upward motion signaled me to stand. It took us the better part of a minute to get me on my two feet. Ren kept his firm hold of my arms. He wanted to make sure I could maintain my balance. As soon as I was upright, I became dizzy and lost my vision for a few moments. I started to sit back down, but Ren resisted, telling me that we needed to descend.
“Can you take a step?” he asked me.
I managed to get my right foot forward.
“Take another step” he insisted.
I then managed to get my left foot forward.
Ren then asserted, “If you can walk, then you can walk down to Camp Four.”
We set off, his left hand gripping my left arm, his right hand pressing on my back. We descended in unison, each step synchronized. I kept breathing his oxygen, the tank still on his back. Ren often verbally helped me keep track of which foot to move. Whenever he sensed me drifting away from consciousness, he shook me and spoke directly in my ear. Our struggle lasted for hours. All I could focus on were my own steps, and the pain. We passed by many ascending climbers before finally arriving at Camp Four, where I was placed in a tent and intravenously administered fluids for my dehydration and altitude sickness. By some miracle, I had no pronounced frostbite, nor did I suffer from pulmonary edema. My sherpa and other team members were incredibly relieved to see me alive, even though they still had two other climbers to account for. In my presence, they carefully discussed the next steps of my rescue. While a helicopter deployment at Camp Four would not be impossible, it would prove to be a costly and risky option. I managed to speak up amidst the debate, and suggested that we wait and see if I would have enough strength to make the descent back to Base Camp before deciding on the next step. Everyone agreed to this.
The ever fickle window for a summit push was closing rapidly. In the evening after Ren encountered me at the bottom of the Hilary Step, another storm struck the mountain, effectively ending the climbing season in one dramatic blow. The Monsoon had arrived. It brought with it high winds and a heavy snowfall which rendered any summit attempt virtually impossible. While I slowly regained some of my strength the following day, Ren would come to visit me in my tent to see my progress. We spoke at length, sharing our separate adventures climbing the mountain, and what brought us here in the first place. We moved to other things, such as our respective homelands, what we enjoyed during our free time, and the particularities of our own customs that were unknown to foreigners. Ren often laughed out loud. He was delighted to learn about certain details of my culture. Although we had just met a day before, I could sense his genuine relief and happiness at my progressive recovery. He could not have been more encouraged to see a loved one get better. Throughout our conversations, I couldn’t find an appropriate time to address something that had been preoccupying me ever since he decided to help me. Then, he suddenly asked me:
“How is the summit?”
His look was of genuine curiosity. Hesitant at first, I allowed myself to describe what I witnessed at the top of Mount Everest. My enthusiasm began to take off. I recalled the feeling of being at the top, with only the sky in reach. The inconceivable sight of towering giants Lhotse and Makulu not reaching my own height. And of course, the incredulity of making it so far with my own two feet. I then stopped myself, ashamed of having let my emotions get the better of me.
“I’m sorry, Ren. I took it away from you” I lamented.
Ren smiled. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice. “The only thing you took away from me is a selfishness I didn’t know I had.”
The next day, I recovered just enough to descend down to Camp Three. At least half of the entire camp population had already begun the trek back. The remainder packed up and left alongside me. My sherpa stayed by my side to assist me where needed, together with a couple of fellow climbers committed to remaining close by. Ren wasn’t far behind, and without saying anything he seemed resolved to accompany me down to Base Camp to make sure I was completely out of danger. It was obvious from the trek down that I hadn’t regained all my strength, but the descent luckily tested my knees more than it did my conditioning. Upon arriving at Camp Three, my sherpa and I agreed that one camp a day was an acceptable rhythm. Everywhere, word had already spread about my remarkable survival. I therefore made sure that people also understood how Ren had saved me from the brink. When others learned this, they gave Ren a solid pat on the shoulder, but he shyly shrugged it off and nodded with a lowered gaze.
After my arrival at Base Camp, the dedicated medical staff were all but astonished at my recovery, considering I had spent more than a day in the Death Zone. They would discharge me after three days’ rest, where I could finally enjoy the sight of the mountain without the preoccupations of conquering it. We were at the end of climbing season, and the camp took on a different, complex character. The air was celebratory, yet sobering. For while climbers’ personal success in addition to Ren’s heroism inspired joy, we drifted back to melancholy when we paid our respects to yet another two casualties the mountain decided to keep. Such was Everest, a place where people came to live or die.
I was disappointed to learn that Ren had to leave that very day in order to catch his return flight home from Kathmandu. Many of us therefore congregated mid-afternoon at the edge of Base Camp, where the route angled downwards to the Khumbu glacier before gradually heading back below the timber line, and ending up in civilization. Norbu and some members of his expedition team would depart with him. Many, including my Sherpa, Pemba, and Devin, whom I had just met by name, and who opted to stay for another day or two, said our goodbyes. Jade, the climbing expert who had led our first orientation at the base of the mountain, also joined us. She marveled at the physical feat both Ren and I endured, and noted that for someone climbing Everest for the first time, the odds of successfully rescuing someone from the Death Zone without any oxygen were incredibly low. In our last moments together, I promised Ren I would visit him, and added that he would be welcome to visit me anytime back home. Yet, there were no words I could say, nor any gesture I could make that would fully convey my endless gratitude. Ren must have sensed this, because in my hesitation to express myself he grabbed my right shoulder and nodded silently. I gave him a warm hug, and he was off. As we watched him and his companions follow the path towards the glacier, Devin was standing by my side.
“He asked me about the summit,” I told him, “but not in a way that showed any regret. Do you think he’ll be back here someday?”
It was only then that I found out how Ren had spent three years saving up for the expedition, even taking up a second job to make it happen. I stood there looking at Devin, speechless, doing my best to fight back tears. Ren never mentioned anything about everything he sacrificed. In spite of it all, what I saw in his eyes was a sense of peace. I turned to the path one last time to get a glimpse of him, a tiny speck in the distance, the man whose selfless act gave me everything on the roof of the world.
Daniel Sumarto, February 2026
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