The Green Boots on Mount Everest: The Tragic ...
22 August, 2026
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When I first mentioned the idea of climbing Mera Peak to Patrick, it was one of those conversations that starts as a dream rather than a plan.
We had spent years hiking and climbing in Switzerland and throughout Europe. The mountains had always been a huge part of our lives. Yet whenever we looked at photographs of the Himalayas, there was always a feeling that what we were seeing was something entirely different. The scale was difficult to understand. Peaks rising above 8,000 metres seemed almost unreal. We often joked that one day we would stop talking about Nepal and actually go there.
Eventually that joke became a serious conversation.
Before we knew it, we were booking flights to Kathmandu for the spring of 2025.
The closer the departure date came, the more real everything felt. Training sessions became more focused. Weekend hikes became preparation. Every mountain we climbed in Switzerland became another step towards the Himalayas.
There was excitement, of course.
But there was also uncertainty.
Neither of us had ever climbed this high before.
Our first impression of Nepal was overwhelming in the best possible way.
Kathmandu felt alive from the moment we stepped outside the airport. There was movement everywhere. Motorbikes, temples, market stalls, colourful prayer flags, and smiling faces created an atmosphere unlike anything we had experienced before.
Coming from Switzerland, where everything often feels organised and predictable, Kathmandu felt wonderfully chaotic.
The city seemed to have its own rhythm.
While we spent the next few days recovering from the journey and preparing for the expedition, we could already feel ourselves becoming immersed in the experience.
Everything felt new.
Everything felt exciting.
Most importantly, the mountains were finally within reach.
One of the most important moments before the trek even started was meeting our guide, Asmit Rae.
When we first met him, we were surprised by how young he looked. Later we learned that Asmit is one of the youngest guides working with Makalu Adventure. However, after spending only a short time with him, it became obvious that age had very little to do with experience.
Over dinner in Kathmandu, he spoke about previous expeditions, mountain conditions, acclimatisation, and what we could expect during the climb.
There was a calm confidence in the way he spoke.
Not arrogance.
Not overconfidence.
Just experience.
We later learned that he had already guided many clients on trekking and climbing adventures throughout Nepal, including successful ascents of Island Peak, Mera Peak, and Lobuche Peak.
That immediately gave us reassurance.
The mountains would always be unpredictable, but we knew we were in good hands.
The flight to Lukla is something every Himalayan traveller hears about long before arriving in Nepal.
Now we understand why.
Looking through the aircraft window as the mountains grew larger beneath us was one of the most exciting moments of the entire trip.
The closer we flew towards the Everest region, the more dramatic the landscape became.
Deep valleys.
Steep ridges.
Snow-covered peaks.
Remote villages.
It felt like we were entering another world.
When we landed in Lukla, the cool mountain air immediately reminded us that the real journey was finally beginning.
One thing that surprised us was how quickly everyday concerns disappeared.
Back home, life often feels rushed.
There is always another email to answer, another meeting to attend, another task waiting.
The mountains have a way of stripping all of that away.
After only a few days on the trail, our world became beautifully simple.
Wake up.
Drink tea.
Walk.
Enjoy the mountains.
Eat.
Sleep.
Repeat.
At first it felt unusual.
Then it felt liberating.
Every day our minds became quieter.
Every day we felt more connected to the present moment.
As we entered the Hinku Valley, the scenery became increasingly spectacular.
Dense forests slowly gave way to alpine landscapes.
The mountains appeared larger.
The valleys became more remote.
Every day seemed to reveal another breathtaking view.
One afternoon we stopped for lunch beside the trail and simply sat looking across a valley towards distant snow-covered peaks.
Nobody spoke.
There was no need.
Sometimes the mountains provide moments that are far more powerful than words.
Those were the moments we remember most clearly.
As we gained altitude, the mountain slowly began reminding us who was in control.
Breathing became slightly harder.
Walking uphill required more effort.
Sleep became less predictable.
Nothing dramatic happened, but the effects of altitude were impossible to ignore.
What impressed us most was how closely Asmit monitored everyone.
Every evening he checked on us.
Every morning he asked how we felt.
Every day he reminded us to walk slowly.
At first we laughed when he repeatedly said, "Slowly is fast in the Himalayas."
Later, we understood exactly what he meant.
Arriving in Khare felt like a turning point.
For the first time, Mera Peak was no longer a distant objective on an itinerary.
It was standing directly above us.
Huge.
White.
Intimidating.
Beautiful.
That evening, Patrick and I sat outside our lodge watching the last sunlight illuminate the upper slopes of the mountain.
Neither of us said much.
We were both thinking the same thing.
In just a few days, we would attempt to stand on top of that mountain.
The climb to High Camp was unforgettable.
Crossing the glacier felt like entering a completely different world.
Everything was white.
Everything was silent.
Everything felt bigger than we had imagined.
When we finally arrived at High Camp, we were rewarded with extraordinary views of Everest, Lhotse, Makalu, Cho Oyu, and countless other peaks.
The summit suddenly felt close.
That evening, nobody talked much.
Everyone was thinking about the following morning.
Sleep came in short intervals.
The anticipation was impossible to ignore.
When the alarm sounded shortly after midnight, the reality of summit day finally arrived.
The temperature was freezing.
The stars above us seemed impossibly bright.
After a quick breakfast, we left camp and started climbing into the darkness.
The first few hours felt endless.
Every step required concentration.
Every breath mattered.
The summit remained hidden somewhere above us.
All we could do was continue moving forward.
One step at a time.
Then came the sunrise.
Even now, it is difficult to describe.
The eastern horizon slowly began glowing orange and gold.
One by one, the highest mountains on Earth emerged from the darkness.
Everest.
Makalu.
Lhotse.
Cho Oyu.
Kanchenjunga.
For a few minutes, everyone stopped.
The exhaustion disappeared.
The cold disappeared.
The summit no longer mattered.
We simply stood there watching one of the most beautiful sunrises of our lives.
Eventually, after hours of climbing, we reached the summit.
The feeling was not what we expected.
It was not excitement.
It was not relief.
It was gratitude.
Gratitude for the journey.
Gratitude for the people who helped us get there.
Gratitude for the opportunity to stand in such an extraordinary place.
Looking around at the endless Himalayan skyline, we realised that this moment would stay with us forever.
Months later, back in Switzerland, people still ask us about Mera Peak.
They ask about the summit.
They ask about the altitude.
They ask about the views.
The truth is that while the summit was incredible, the journey itself was what made the experience unforgettable.
The villages.
The mountain trails.
The friendships.
The shared meals.
The conversations with Asmit.
The quiet moments spent watching the Himalayas.
Those memories remain far stronger than any photograph.
Mera Peak gave us more than a successful summit.
It gave us an experience that will stay with us for the rest of our lives.
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