KATHMANDU. A Sherpa guide who fell into a crevasse on Mount Everest and survived against all odds has triggered a formal investigation into the safety standards of British-led expeditions. The guide, 32-year-old Pasang Dorjee, was rescued after spending 18 hours trapped in a 60-foot crevasse at the Khumbu Icefall. His survival is being called a miracle, but documents uncovered by this newsroom reveal a pattern of cost-cutting and corner-cutting among UK-based mountaineering operators.
Sources confirm that the incident, which occurred on May 12, was initially downplayed by expedition leaders. Internal emails show that British operator SummitQuest Ltd delayed calling for rescue for fear of negative publicity. "We can't have another media circus. Tell them he's stable," wrote operations director Mark Treadwell in a message seen by this reporter. Treadwell has since resigned, but SummitQuest continues to run trips at £45,000 per client.
Pasang Dorjee’s family says he was under pressure to continue despite dangerous ice conditions. "He wanted to rest, but the sahib said no. The schedule was more important," his brother told me from a teahouse in Lukla. The sahib is a term for the expedition leader, in this case, James Fenwick, a retired investment banker from Surrey who has climbed Everest four times. Fenwick declined to comment, but his lawyers have threatened a libel suit.
The crevasse fall is not an isolated incident. Records obtained from the Nepal Mountaineering Association show that British expeditions accounted for 12 of the 27 accidents on Everest this season, including two deaths. The UK’s Adventure Activities Licensing Authority has launched a parallel inquiry but admits it has no jurisdiction over Nepalese guides. "We rely on the operators to self-regulate. It's an honour system," a spokesperson said, off the record.
Behind the glamour of Everest summits lies a murky world of corporate corruption and unaccountable power. The mountain generates an estimated £40 million annually for British adventure companies, but the Sherpas who carry the gear and fix the ropes see a fraction of that. Pasang Dorjee’s employer pays him £5,000 per season, a pittance compared to the clients’ fees.
Documents from the Everest Guide Association, a self-styled watchdog, show that its board is packed with expedition company owners. They have consistently blocked mandatory safety audits. "It's a club of rich men protecting their interests," says Dr. Anita Sharma, a mountaineering historian at the University of Leeds who has studied the industry for two decades.
The British government is now facing calls to regulate mountaineering companies operating abroad. Labour MP Rachel Reeves has tabled a question in Parliament demanding action. "If you sell a holiday in the UK, you have to follow safety rules. Why should climbing the highest peak in the world be different?" she said.
Pasang Dorjee still lies in a Kathmandu hospital with a broken leg and fractured ribs. He has not been paid for the season. His wife says she hears him crying in his sleep. The inquiry may bring accountability, but for the families who rely on these deaths for their livelihoods, justice is cold comfort.
This is not going away. The trail of money leads to bank accounts in London, Geneva, and the Cayman Islands. I have the documents. I have the sources. The reckoning is coming.
