In a shocking twist that has left obituary writers across the globe frantically shredding their copy, a missing Sherpa guide has been found alive on Mount Everest after an apparent ‘self-rescue’ of such heroic proportions that it has made the mountain itself blush. Yes, my gin-soaked comrades, the death-defying Gelje Sherpa, who was presumed perished in a crevasse the size of a politician’s ego, has decided to return to the land of the living just to inconvenience everyone’s narrative.
Let’s be clear: this is not a rescue. This is a man who looked the abyss in the eye, said ‘Not today, sweetheart,’ and then casually climbed back into existence. According to reports, Gelje was stranded for four days without food or water, which, in mountaineering terms, is roughly equivalent to a banker surviving a bonus cut. He was left to rot after a fall into a crevasse that his colleagues evidently deemed ‘inconvenient’ to retrieve him from. But Gelje, whose name translates roughly to ‘I will not be defeated by altitude or incompetence,’ decided to self-extricate in a feat that would make Houdini weep.
The details are, as you might expect, both harrowing and utterly surreal. Gelje reportedly survived on snow, urine, and the sheer force of Nepalese willpower, dragging his broken body across icefalls that look like the aftermath of a gin bottle fight. He was found by a search party that had probably already written his eulogy in their heads, complete with phrases like ‘tragic loss’ and ‘in the prime of his life.’ But no, Gelje ruined their prose by waving feebly from a ridge, looking more emaciated than a threadbare metaphor but very much alive.
Now, the mountaineering community is in a frenzy, which is to say they are all checking their insurance policies and trying to spin this as a testament to human endurance rather than a damning indictment of their own cowardice. The expedition company, which shall remain nameless for fear of legal action (or a good kicking), is already patting itself on the back for its ‘robust safety protocols.’ Safety protocols that left a man to die in a frozen hellhole for four days. Yes, marvellous.
This story is a beautiful, savage mockery of our obsession with ‘miracle’ narratives. We love a good resurrection, don’t we? It makes us feel safe, as if the universe has a soft spot for plucky underdogs. But the real miracle here is that anyone is surprised that a Sherpa, a people who carry your fat, overpriced oxygen tanks up mountains for a living, might have a flicker of survival instinct. Gelje didn’t need a miracle; he needed a bloody helicopter that wasn’t reserved for wealthy clients with a penchant for Instagram selfies.
So raise a glass of lukewarm airline gin to Gelje Sherpa: proof that heroes still exist, but only when the system fails them utterly. He is now recovering in a hospital, presumably plotting his next ascent while his former colleagues scribble furiously to erase any evidence of their own negligence. As for me, I’ll be here, sharpening my pen and waiting for the next ‘miracle’ to savagely deconstruct. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the only thing more miraculous than surviving Everest is the capacity of the wealthy to avoid responsibility.
