In a tale that has left the mountaineering community both baffled and mildly envious, a Nepalese guide has cheated death on the world's tallest toilet, Mount Everest, by subsisting on a diet of chocolate bars and desperately chewed ice for six days. Gelje Sherpa, 30, was guiding a Malaysian climber when they were stranded at 8,700 metres, roughly the altitude where the brain begins to stew in its own juices. While his client was rescued, Gelje found himself alone, clinging to the mountain's frozen flank like a barnacle on the hull of a sinking ship.
His survival strategy? A kit-kat here, a few sly nibbles of an Aero there, and a lot of ice chewing. One can only assume he used the wrappers to build a tiny igloo and the foil to reflect his own dwindling sense of hope. The irony is sublime: while billionaires pay sixty grand to have their arses carried up this pile of frozen excrement, a man survives on the very snack you'd pack for a day at the cinema.
Gelje's ordeal has sparked a predictable wave of corporate symbolism. Nestlé, no doubt, is already drafting an advert featuring a grinning Sherpa with a slogan like 'Mount Everest: Conquered by Chocolate.' But let us not forget the grim reality. This is the same mountain where people queue to die, where the 'death zone' is less a zone and more a state of mind. That Gelje survived by eating chocolate is less a testament to confectionery and more to the sheer bloody-mindedness of the human spirit and the luck of having a pocket full of Cocoa Puffs.
He was eventually rescued by a helicopter that somehow managed to land at an altitude where angels fear to tread, let alone rotor blades. The pilot, a man whose testicles must be made of titanium, plucked Gelje from the mountain's icy grip. And what did our hero ask for upon his return to base camp? Not a stiff gin, not a hot bath, but a proper meal. Chicken curry, if you please. A man who has chewed ice for a week has priorities.
This absurd episode encapsulates everything that is wrong and right about adventure. It is a farce that we spend millions to climb mountains only to discover that the saviour is a Mars bar. It is a slap in the face to every gym-toned, Instagram-tanned influencer who posts their summit selfie while ignoring the frozen bodies they step over. Gelje Sherpa is a hero, not because he ate chocolate, but because he survived a system that treats guides as disposable assets. He is the Willy Wonka of the death zone, and we should all bow down to his sugar-fuelled resilience.
So here's to you, Gelje. May your next expedition be filled with steak and ale pie, and may your pockets always contain a few chunks of Dairy Milk. You've earned it, you beautiful, chocolatey bastard.
