In the thin air between ambition and altitude sickness, the spring of 2025 has transformed the Everest summit season into an alpine theatre of survival. As climbers claw their way towards glory, Global Rescue’s teams are once again the unsung heroes, dragging the fragile and frostbitten back from the brink, often before breakfast.
In what’s already shaping up to be one of the most turbulent Everest campaigns in recent memory, Global Rescue is knee-deep in the Himalayan drama. Their paramedics and high-altitude medics operate from first light until nearly midnight, pulling people off the world’s highest stage with precision, stamina, and a fair amount of duct tape.
“During the two-week summit window, we can see up to 25 rescues a day,” says Dan Stretch, paramedic and senior operations manager at Global Rescue. “We go from sunup to starlight. It doesn’t stop.”
Summit Fever and the Human Cost
Climbers have always danced with danger on Everest, but 2025 has brought an extra twist. With hundreds trying to summit in a narrow weather window, the rescue tempo has reached a fever pitch.
The Everest corridor—that gnarly stretch of thin air spanning Base Camp to Gorakshep—is now more of a medevac zone than a mountaineering marvel. Stretch’s team has hauled out patients with symptoms ranging from garden-variety exhaustion to life-threatening conditions like high-altitude pulmonary and cerebral edema (HAPE and HACE).
Among the cases:
- A Croatian climber, wheezing with bronchitis, was later diagnosed with HAPE.
- An American from Nashville suffering from HAPE-HACE double jeopardy.
- Another U.S. climber with a respiratory infection, HAPE, and a concerning heart murmur.
Other evacuees have turned up with haemoptysis, pneumonia, gastrointestinal illness, and the ever-popular “I-thought-I-was-fit-until-I-wasn’t” syndrome.
Helicopters Grounded by Bureaucracy
Now for the kicker: Nepal’s civil aviation authorities, keen to curb chopper crashes, have clipped the wings of pilot availability by imposing strict flying-hour caps. That means fewer rescues, more delays, and a sudden spotlight on the importance of self-reliance.
“Climbers have to understand,” says Stretch, “we’re not miracle workers. If the choppers are grounded, you’re on your own. We advise everyone to train, acclimatise and, frankly, not be daft.”
Global Rescue’s All-Out Assault on Altitude
Far from being a fly-in, fly-out operation, Global Rescue’s Himalayan strategy is nothing short of militarised compassion. Their teams, comprised of medics and trauma-trained nurses, are stationed from Kathmandu to the Khumbu. They do everything: helicopter coordination, hospital admissions, on-the-spot triage, post-care planning and even emotional pep talks.
“Rescue means more than a winch and a wave,” says Stretch. “It’s about ensuring someone actually makes it home, intact and still breathing.”
And the pace is punishing.
Stretch and his crew might respond to multiple calls before breakfast, tracking symptoms in real-time and relaying patient data to hospitals en route. The logistics resemble a wartime medical campaign more than a guided tour.
Annapurna and Mera: Not Just Everest’s Problem
It’s not just Everest keeping the rescue radios buzzing. Annapurna I and Mera Peak have also seen their fair share of carnage. Climbers from Brazil, the UK, Malaysia, and Australia have been airlifted after encountering frostbite, altitude sickness, and the bone-rattling consequences of poor preparation.
One Australian was treated for AMS and bronchitis at over 20,000 feet. A Malaysian climber had suspected HACE. A Singaporean adventurer went down with dual knee injuries from repeated falls. And in one particularly grim back-to-back mission, a Brazilian climber and his partner were rescued consecutively with severe altitude symptoms.
“These peaks don’t care how many followers you have on Instagram,” Stretch notes dryly. “You’re not above the mountain. The mountain is always above you.”
The Peter Principle: Prepare or Perish
So, what’s the lesson here for would-be heroes of the Himalayas? It’s not complicated: prepare, respect the mountain, and take responsibility for yourself.
Gone are the days when a satellite phone and a big wallet could guarantee a clean extraction. In 2025, with aircraft grounded and rescues rationed, climbers must bring more than ambition. They need humility, training, and a Plan B that doesn’t begin with a mayday.
“You want to get high?” Stretch says, “Start by staying grounded. It might just save your life.”
By Karuna Johnson
