By Alan Arnette19 min read

Everest 2025: Weekend Update May 25–Season Ending Soon

What a week on Everest! We had both regular and unique summits, some of which may have unintended consequences for years to come. On the other 8000ers, the season came to a close with a few inspiring stories. The action is not over quite yet, even with an impending storm threatening to close the Icefall early next week, but allowing the remaining Tibetan side teams to summit a deserted peak. A narrative on descending from the summit of Everest and returning home with lessons from the mountain.

Big Picture

If there is a word to encapsulate this season, it might be wind.  Meteorologist Chris Tomer of Tomer Weather Solutions noted the difficulty this season:

The season was marked by at least a partial jet stream (wind at 30,000ft) playing hide and seek on Everest’s summit from 5/10-5/25. You couldn’t completely shake it. That means a persistent and consistent wind above C4 to the summit. It required oxygen to successfully make it. The jet didn’t completely move off the summit until 5/26-5/29, revealing the lightest wind of the season. The season will end with the possibility of a tropical cyclone from the Bay of Bengal and heavy snow accumulation across the Everest Region, 5/30-5/31. One of the trickiest wind periods was 5/21-5/25. Model guidance was inconsistent at times, showing safe jet wind only to find the window evaporating. It pushed teams right to the edge.

And Michael Fagin of Everest Weather weighed in with

The Subtropical Jet Stream is a thin band of winds that fluctuates from latitudes 25 N to 35 N , with Everest at latitude 28 N. The jet also fluctuates in elevation from close to Everest’s height (29,032’) to 39,000’. Normally, during late April and in May, the jet stream briefly moves over Mount Everest, bringing winds at 80 mph and often higher. For much of this climbing season, the main part of the jet stream has been north of Everest. However, at times, there has been a thin band of winds of 40 to 60 mph located at an elevation just above the elevation of Mt. Everest. At times, this band of strong winds has mixed down to the Mount Everest summit and to some of the higher camps.

The big summit days were May 18th at 165, 19th at 104, with the rest ranging from four to 70. The largest teams on Everest had a great week led by Seven Summit Trek, Furtenbach Adventures, Climbing the Seven Summits and 8K Expeditions. Many of the summits, as Chris noted, were in “breezy” conditions, yet reports of frostbite, which are expected in harsh conditions, were rare; this doesn’t mean they didn’t occur, just that they were not made public. A severe upper respiratory infection also appeared to wreak havoc on the Neapl side base camp.

Estimates vary, but at least 525 people have summited this season, with 245 members supported by 282 Sherpas or support climbers. This results in a client-to-support ratio of 1:15, lower than in previous years. We will need to wait a few months for the Himalayan Database to publish official figures.

Last Week

Despite the winds, almost every day Everest summits were on one or the other, as well as on a few other 8,000 m peaks in Nepal. You can review all the teams by browsing the five posts I made last week (links at the bottom of this page), but a few that stood out to me.

Andrew Ushakov of the U.S. made it from New York City to the summit of Everest in 3 days, 23 hours, and 7 minutes, assisted by five Sherpas with Elite Exped. The xenon-powered team of Garth Miller, Alastair Carns, Anthony Stazicker, and Kev Godlington left the UK on Friday, May 16 and summited on May 21, five days later, supported by eight Sherpas, of whom five summited.

It’s unclear to me how much of an impact the techniques had on their fast summits, seeing as at least Ushakov used supplemental oxygen from base camp to the summit. According to Miller in media interviews, the xenon team spent more than 500 hours of hypoxic training, including sleeping in a hypoxic tent and training with a mask.

However, as I mentioned last week, these climbs may have altered how people perceive Everest, perhaps with unintended consequences. I think Dr. Peter Hacket summed it up best in an NPR interview on May 18th with, “…most importantly, they’re using oxygen on the climb. And that’s the most helpful thing that any Everest climber can have: to use oxygen. So it’s so hard to tell if there’s any additional benefit from xenon.” Lukas Furtenbach, who managed the xenon team, seemed to understand this and posted:

Climbing Everest in just seven days was never about setting a reckless record, although the result is a record for the fastest round trip Everest expedition — it was about proving that with the right preparation, medical safeguards, and cutting-edge technology, high-altitude mountaineering could be made safer. The 7-Day Everest Project demonstrated that rapid ascents are possible—but only under strict conditions:
✅ Controlled acclimatization using pre-breathing techniques & individualized hyperbaric hypoxic protocols
✅ Real-time medical monitoring with a full support team
✅ Xenon gas technology to mitigate altitude sickness risks
This wasn’t a stunt—it was a scientific breakthrough aimed at reducing the deadly „traffic jams“ and prolonged exposure that kill climbers every year.
But Here’s the Problem:
Don’t try to replicate this speed without the safety net—no xenon, no medical team, no proper acclimatization. That’s not bold—it’s suicidal.
Without these safeguards, a fast ascent is a death sentence waiting to happen:
❌ HAPE & HACE risk skyrockets—your brain and lungs can’t adapt in days without help.
❌ No margin for error—one delay, one storm, and you’re out of oxygen with no backup.
❌ Rescue becomes near-impossible—helicopters can’t reach you at 8,000m if you collapse.
The 7-Day Everest Project was about saving lives by pushing the boundaries of safety. Ignoring its lessons and attempting the same without the science? That’s not mountaineering—it’s Russian roulette at 29,000 feet. Climb fast. Climb smart. But never climb stupid.

Both record-seeking Everest runners turned back, primarily due to the conditions. Karl Egloff stopped near Camp 3, and Tyler Andrews got to Camp 4 before stopping. There are no new speed records this season.

So without listing all the names, here are some of the teams that summited last week.

• 14 Peaks Expedition

• 7 Summits Club

• 8K Expeditions

• Adventure Consultants

• Alpine Ascents International (AAI)

• Ascent Himalayas

• Climbing The Seven Summits

• Dreamers Destination

• Elite Exped

•Furtenbach Adventures (both sides)

•Furtenbach “Powered by Xenon” team

•Imagine Nepal (both sides)

• Kaitu Expedition

• Kenton Cool, with number 19

• Madison Mountaineering

• Makalu Adventure

• Mountain Professionals

• Pioneer Adventure

• Seven Summit Treks

• Summit Climb

And on the Tibet side: Climbalaya Treks led four clients, accompanied by five support climbers, to the summit with more to come.  Imagine Nepal also had success on the North side with 13 summits between yesterday and May 24. 

Next Week

It’s probably over on the Nepal side, but never say never. It all depends on when the Icefall Doctors remove the ladders on the Khumbu icefall. But on the Tibetan side, look for Adrian Ballinger’s Alpenglow team to be the last to go this year. Other teams on the Tibetan side that will ascend before the end of the month include Alpenglow. Adrian sent me this note: 

Leaving on our summit push from ABC today! We should be the only team, and for the first time this season, Jet will be heading to the north, with winds expected to be low and temperatures warm at the summit. 27th is planned as summit day!

And Jason Weiss is at Camp 2 on the Tibetan side with one Sherpa aiming for the 27, but it sounds miserable at the moment. He sent me this message via Inreach:

Greetings from C2!! 25,200. Feel good! Oh man, we’re getting NUKED by wind. All day long, nonstop. 8 hours in a row. 50 mph gusts. Everything is covered in ice. Tomer said today was very windy, so it was expected. But man, brutal wind all day long. Tomorrow will also be windy, but 27 will finally be calmer. Tents hanging on for dear life!

Narrative–Descending from the Summit and coming home

I pulled the hood back from my head, looked around; there was Kami, standing up, just staring at me. I smiled at him; he smiled back. We had done it. We had summited Mount Everest together. I glanced around at all the other people on the summit. They’re hugging and slapping each other on the back. Everybody’s in a great mood, but it’s cold. Kami looked at me and nodded. I knew what he meant. It was time to go. As I stood up, I took one last 360-degree circle to look in every direction from the top of the world. I felt good. I felt like I had accomplished something. And I had accomplished my main goal of honoring Ida Arnette, raising awareness, and hopefully raising money for research.  The last thing in the world I want is for another family to go through what we did.

Taking a step downhill, then another, I found the fixed line, clipped my Jumar on, and a carabiner in front—something I’d done hundreds, if not thousands, of times over the last several weeks. I walked, and I walked, with Kami just ahead, much more relaxed now than during the ascent. He seemed relieved that we’d summited and that the winds hadn’t hit us unexpectedly. It was breezy, so we kept moving over little hills, down, up, down, until we reached the top of the Hillary Step. I ambled over that big rock, looking like a lost turtle or maybe a monkey—not graceful, but I did it. Kami descended the Hillary Step gracefully, taking maybe 30 seconds. He’s amazing. As he clipped into the fixed rope, I began to turn into the Hillary Step so I could face in and descend. I looked down at my feet, my crampons, searching for a little niche to put the front points in, holding onto that fixed rope for dear life—and it did mean my life.

All of a sudden, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was as if my mask had collapsed on my face. I knew what had happened: ice had formed in the regulator or the tube from the bottle. I looked at Kami, pointed at my mask, and shook my head. He understood immediately. I managed to get down quickly, though not gracefully, to the bottom of the Hillary Step. Kami walked over, balled up his hand in a big fist, and just BAM!—hit my mask. Fresh, cool air started flowing again. It wasn’t pretty, but it was effective. I was breathing life-saving oxygen once more. I took another deep breath and thought, “I’m close.” From the Hillary Step, we took a few more steps to the Cornice Traverse—that sidewalk-width area dropping off 10,000 feet into Tibet and 8,000 feet into Nepal. Years later, I have no memory of walking across that. Somehow, my mind coped by blocking it out.

I reached the base of the South Summit, remembering that I had to climb back up it. I began climbing, clipped into the fixed line, taking short, simple steps. It didn’t take long, and I was back on top of the South Summit. Looking down the southeast ridge, I saw about 30 people coming up—everyone in different positions, some standing, some leaning, some looking up or down. I thanked Kami for getting us ahead of everyone earlier that morning. We began to descend. I passed Dave Hahn coming up. “Good job, Alan.” “Thanks, Dave. Good luck to you, too.” We exchanged greetings—Dave is such a special guy. I passed a few other teammates, but later, when I asked if they remembered seeing me, they said no. Everyone was in a stupor, just trying to survive, taking one step higher while I was taking one step lower.

My crampons scratched against the hard rock where the wind had blown the snow away. I told myself, “Alan, be careful. Engage those glutes.” I was glad I’d worked on my calves during training, because this was very physical on my legs. Slide the Jumar, slide the carabiner, short steps—I kept going. It didn’t take as long as the ascent, and sometimes I loved gravity, sometimes I didn’t. I made it to the Balcony, where Miriam was already waiting. We had enough oxygen to skip changing bottles at the Balcony and go down the triangular face to the safety of our tents. But IMG wanted us to go all the way to Camp 2, so we had to descend to the Lhotse Face. I sat on the Balcony, just humped over, while Miriam was relaxed and happy. Not many words were exchanged, but soon it was time to go.

We descended a small gully, a snowfield, to my favorite big rock. I leaned over and patted it, saying, “See ya.” It felt good knowing I hadn’t turned around this time at my favorite rock—I had on my three previous attempts. I was tired, my legs and back hurting, but it was okay. The oxygen was working. I wish I didn’t need it, but I did—and that’s okay. I continued down the triangular face in broad daylight. Just before the South Col, I looked to the climber’s left to see if I could spot Scott Fisher’s body. Supposedly, it was over there, but I didn’t see it. Eventually, the mountain relented, and it became flat. I found my tent, my sleeping bag, my pad, and a few other things I’d left there. I flopped onto my sleeping bag. I knew I shouldn’t sleep, but I probably slept for about 15 minutes. Kami told me, “Don’t go to sleep, whatever you do.” I said, “Okay,” as I drifted off. He managed me well, and I needed it. I loaded everything up in my backpack. Kami wouldn’t let me carry much, treating me like a three-year-old, but I didn’t mind.

We headed away from the South Col tents, knowing other Sherpas would pack up and leave the mountain clean. We walked along the flats to the top of the Geneva Spur—where I’d ripped the seat of my down suit on the way up, with feathers flying out. Another group was videoing, so I’m sure they got a picture of this American with goose feathers flying out of his pants. I didn’t laugh—I needed those feathers. I ambled down the rocky Geneva Spur, and the trail was pretty flat over to the Yellow Band. On my first Everest trip, I was so exhausted I turned my Jumar backwards to descend the Yellow Band. This time, I was tired but didn’t need that aid. I scraped my crampons against the rocks and got to the snow again. I heard Wright heading down to Camp 3, but there were no tents there—they’d all moved up to the South Col. I sat down in an abandoned tent platform pit and started to close my eyes. “Alan! Alan! Don’t do it! Stop!” Kami lectured me again. I opened my eyes wide and said, “Okay, all right. I know. Let’s just get down.”

I don’t think I’d ever been as tired as I was. It was just one step after another—I stumbled, mumbled, ambled, but kept going. I told myself, “If you’re not moving, you’re losing.” Must have been a lack of oxygen. Another step, slide the Jumar, move the carabiner, short steps. I reached the steeper part of the lower Lhotse Face and saw the bergshrund, the large crack at the bottom, with a ladder across it. I made my way across, remembering to stay clipped in on both sides. I headed down the Western Cwm to Camp 2, feeling like the angle was flatter than before. I was ready to get to my tent—this time, I knew I could really sleep. Off in the distance, I saw two small dots. One waved—Kami waved back. It was our Camp 2 cooks bringing hot lemon tea. “Namaste! Congratulations! Namaste!” Hugs all around. The hot tea tasted so good. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty, just exhausted. I continued to Camp 2, letting my pace slow. Kami knew I was safe and went ahead.

At Camp 2, the IMG camp was at the top of the rock gully. I crawled into the tent, took off my crampons, boots, and down suit. I stank. How do you sweat that much at 20 degrees below zero? I unzipped my bag, now just in my base layer merino wool, and closed my eyes. I drifted off into a deep, hard sleep—probably snoring when Jay arrived, my tentmate, but nobody cared.

Everybody was exhausted from our 24-hour marathon to the top of the world. I’d been moving for 15, 16, maybe 18 hours from the South Col to the Balcony, the South Summit, the summit, back to the South Summit, Balcony, South Col, down the Lhotse Face, and now Camp 2. I heard pans being banged together—dinner was ready. I didn’t want to go, but I needed to eat. I walked over in my down booties—my toes felt so good being free from the boots. I forgot what we had for dinner, but it tasted good. Nobody spoke. Everybody was quiet, tired, exhausted, happy—except for the few who didn’t make it. They had a thousand-yard stare. I began to reflect, but I was too tired to concentrate. I went back to my tent and fell asleep.

Kami came over and said, “We’re leaving in the morning, 4 a.m. We want to get through the icefall before the sun hits it.” I set my alarm for 3 a.m., knowing it would take me a long time to get dressed and pack. At 3 a.m., I packed quickly, went to the cook tent for milk tea, toast, and a little porridge. It tasted good. Kami and I clipped into the fixed rope and started walking down. One section had four ladders lashed together over a deep crevasse. I clipped up, then with my left carabiner, clipped my Jumar and another carabiner onto the right line, slid across, taking simple steps on the aluminum ladder, hearing the clank of my crampons. There was something comforting about that. Deep down, I knew I was going home with the summit. I got across the crevasse, turned around, and looked up at Lhotse’s face. “Thank you,” I thought—I’m not sure who I was thanking, but I felt gratitude.

At the top of the Khumbu Icefall, it’s really jumbled—lots of ladders, ups and downs. I glanced up at the big hanging seracs on the west shoulder of Everest. “Stay. Don’t move,” I barked at it like a dog. Kami and I walked along at a good clip, but suddenly we heard an ice serac fall on the trail only 30 seconds after we’d crossed that spot. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and Kami nodded toward base camp. We picked up our pace. Once again, the universe was taking care of me. Grateful. Thank you. We got to the football field in the middle of the Khumbu Icefall, took a break, drank a liter of water, ate a Mars bar—I love Mars bars on expeditions. Kept going, crossing ladders, staying clipped in, up and down. Big old four ladders again, lashed together, went straight down.

Down-climbing a ladder, facing in, clunk, clunk, clunk—reassuring sounds. Got to the base, kept going, reached the section with prayer flags strung across. The football field, the prayer flags—these are all milestones in the icefall. This was my fourth Everest trip, and my last time descending the icefall while climbing Everest. In the future, I’d try Lhotse. But in 2015, the earthquake stopped that, and in 2016, my own weaknesses did. Mountains have a way of humbling you. At this point, all I wanted was to get back to base camp and begin the trek home.

At the IMG base camp, Greg and Jangbu were there, slapping, hugging, and handing me a beer. It tasted so good—my first alcohol in two months. I went to my tent, but Greg called out, “We’re heading down to Gorak Shep tonight.” So quickly? Not even time to unravel? But that’s the protocol—once you summit, everybody wants to get out. I reluctantly packed, cross-legged on my sleeping bag, my two duffel bags there—one red, one black Gregory. I loved those bags. I crammed stuff in, put them outside. Jangbu said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get your bags to Kathmandu.” Some yak would have to carry my two 70-pound duffels.

Miriam and I went to Lama Geshe in Pangboche. I’d seen him every time I’d been through the Khumbu since my first trek in 1997. He blessed everyone as they went up the mountain. A few people see him after. He and his wife were happy to see us. We sat down, and through a translator (he only spoke Tibetan), he asked about our trip, if we were safe, and checked our fingers and toes. We smiled, laughed, butted heads. I miss Lama Geshe—he died a few years later. He was the kind of man whose hands were incredibly warm, not from temperature, but from his heart and soul.

Miriam and I continued down, Jay too, stopping in villages and teahouses, moving much faster now that we were acclimatized and strong. We got to Namche, then back to Phakding, eventually to Lukla, did the Lukla hang—waiting for the skies to clear for our little puddle jumper flight to Kathmandu. I immediately started working the phones to change my airline reservation to get home as soon as possible. I took a long, hot shower, crawled into bed, got a good night’s sleep, changed my flight to that day, and got on the Thai Airways flight to Bangkok, then LAX, and finally Denver.

I reflected on my experience: what I’d learned, how I’d changed. I felt stronger, more confident, pleased. My first three attempts, I didn’t summit, but I don’t call them failures—I call them non-summits. A failure is when you try something hard and don’t learn from it. I learned something each time. I was a better version of myself. Sometimes things are hard, but not impossible. Everest tested me, took me to my limits, but proved I had more strength than I thought. I’d use that years later on K2. There are a thousand reasons to stop, only one to keep going. On my first three attempts, I focused on the negativity. Now, I’m humbled to have honored Ida Arnette.

Climb On!
Alan
Memories are Everything

Death Total–Ten across the Himalayas

1, 2. April 8–Annapurna: Rinje Sherpa and Ngima Tashi Sherpa, avalanche on Annapurna while working for Seven Summits Treks.

3. April 26–Ama Dablam: Austrian Martin Hornegger, 64, died descending Ama Dablam after summit.

4. May 12–Kanchenjunga: French climber Margareta Morin, 63, died ascending Kanchenjunga, climbing with Peak 15 Adventure.

5. May 5–Makalu: American Alexander (Alex) Pancoe, 39, died at Camp 2, climbing with Madison Mountaineering.

Everest–Five Deaths

1 April 2–Nepali Lanima Sherpa, 55, reportedly died due to high altitude sickness at EBC with an unidentified expedition operator.

2. Early May, Ngima Dorji Sherpa died at EBC from reportedly a brain hemorrhage. He worked for Seven Summits Treks.

3 May 4–Pen Chhiri Sherpa reportedly had a heart attack at Camp I while working for TAG Nepal.

4. May 15–Filipino Philipp II Santiago, 45, reportedly died of unknown causes at C4 on his Everest ascent with Snowy Horizon.

5. May 16, 2025,  West Bengal, Indian, Subrata Ghosh, 45, died near the Hillary Step after summiting with Snowy Horizon.

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Background

Why this coverage?

I like to use these weekend updates to remind my readers that I’m just one guy who loves climbing. With 38 serious climbing expeditions, including four Everest trips and a summit in 2011, I use my site to share those experiences, demystify Everest each year, and bring awareness to Alzheimer’s Disease. My mom, Ida Arnette, died from this disease in 2009, as have four of my aunts. It was a heartbreaking experience that I hope no other family will go through; thus, I asked for donations to non-profits, which 100% go to them and never to me.
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Ida Arnette 1926-2009

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