SADIE WHITELOCKS: I’ve witnessed the frenzied “top fever” of arrogant, wealthy Western tourists who stop at NOTHING to get to the top…which is why the death of the K2 porter is as unsurprising as it is sickening

The snow no longer felt cold. It even felt warm and fuzzy. I closed my eyes – and began to dream away.

I was completely exhausted. Frozen numb and oxygen deprived at about 22,600 feet on the Tibetan climb of Everest.

Surrounded by crevices and treacherous drops, I stopped at an ice bed to rest, not realizing how easily these mountains can claim lives.

“Come on, Sadie,” demanded one of my group’s Sherpas, Nima. ‘We’re not far. Another hour and we’ll be there.’

He was nice, but strict. For he knew only too well: if I had fallen asleep, I might never have woken up again.

That was March 2018 – and memories of that hair-raising climb came flooding back this week as drone footage of 27-year-old Pakistani Mohammed Hassan’s death moments on the slopes of K2 mountain went viral.

We all watched in horror as a mortally wounded Mohammed, a Sherpa (known as “porters” in Pakistan), lay motionless at 27,000 feet, wedged into the snowy cliff face of K2 – second in height to Everest, but deadlier.

We all watched in horror as a mortally wounded Mohammed, a Sherpa (known as “porters” in Pakistan), lay motionless at 27,000 feet, wedged into the snowy cliff face of K2 – second in height to Everest, but deadlier.

As is now common on these ‘bucket list’ peaks, Mohammed was far from alone – surrounded by dozens of eager climbers, many from the West, who pay hefty sums to be led safely to the top by skilled local guides, just like Mohammed.

Nima was my Mohammed. And how lucky I was to have him to keep me awake, to hold my hand.

Mohammed was not so lucky – perhaps he was because he was a Sherpa and not a paying tourist.

And as mountaineers took turns stepping apathetically over the father-of-three’s limp body in their relentless pursuit of the summit, his life slipped away.

Only two climbers would have stopped to help. By the end, he was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t speak or even hear.

Even worse, a group of Norwegian climbers posted photos to social media shortly after his death to celebrate a record-breaking ascent time that would no doubt have been lost had they paused to come to Mohammed’s aid.

Disgusting, yes. But alas, as someone who has spent more than a decade in the unique and bizarre world of elite climbing, I can tell you that this mockery of inhumanity was a disaster waiting to happen.

Sure, Sherpas and porters look out for each other even when tourists don’t, but at the end of the day, they’re under tremendous pressure to prioritize their customers.

And these customers, predominantly high-flying, very wealthy Westerners, are changing at a high altitude.

These could be some decent, nice people at base camp. But high up as the atmosphere thins, at the pinnacle of human achievement, as the top of the world comes into view, the look in their eyes can become menacing.

Why would they risk their own small chance of success to help another climber? It’s every man for himself.

There is also the money. An Everest or K2 climb will cost you the better part of $50,000. Even for the few who can afford that, it’s probably a one-time thing.

Muhammad was far from alone – surrounded by dozens of eager climbers, many from the West, who pay hefty sums to be led safely to the top by skilled local guides, just like Muhammad. (Pictured: Author Sadie Whitelocks).

As mountaineers took turns stepping apathetically over the father-of-three’s limp body in their relentless pursuit of the summit, his life slipped away. Only two climbers would have stopped to help. By the end, he was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t speak or even hear. (Pictured: Sadie with famous rock climber Nirmal Purja).

Training also takes months, often away from family and friends in harsh conditions, acclimatizing to heights and building fitness. Sacrifice is essential – and when it comes down to it, the fear of failure can overwhelm you.

I first learned about the concept of “top fever”—the dangerous compulsion to get to the top at all costs—during a 2010 lecture at The Explorers Club in New York City.

As a 23 year old with no mountaineering experience at the time I was shocked.

You could die, others could die, but so be it. Probably not, I thought.

But as my experience grew – climbing in Tibet, Nepal, Africa, Russia, Argentina during my vacations – I soon realized that ‘summit fever’ is a real and terrifying phenomenon.

By far the worst offenders I’ve seen in the mountains are money amateurs.

Both men and women, transformed into arrogant monsters, decked out in the most expensive gear, but often clueless, insisting that their spending should hasten success.

Such people also treat the Sherpas and porters horribly.

They are also invariably overambitious, unfit and often put their guides in great danger at high altitudes.

Nevertheless, the meteoric rise of adventure tourism and “high bragging rights” has provided healthy business for local communities – albeit only in relative terms (a Sherpa can expect to earn $5,000 in a climbing season).

And make no mistake: their job is the most dangerous job in the world.

I went to Everest in 2018 to set a world record for the highest dinner party, which would take place at 7,500 meters – about 1800 meters from the top.

The expedition raised money for the Nepalese community in the aftermath of the devastating 2015 earthquake, and thankfully sponsors covered my prohibitive costs.

The Sherpas and porters who completed the world record with us became our friends and – as I know only too well – some of us owe our lives to them.

By far the worst offenders I’ve seen in the mountains are money amateurs. Such people treat the Sherpas and porters horribly. (Pictured: Sadie and her teammates set the world record for the highest dinner date at 7,549 meters on Everest).

They taught us to dance to Nepalese pop, while we treated them to an egg and spoon race at a great height.

But such an experience is the exception.

In general, the clear separation between the clients and local guides borders on abuse: they are split into separate tents and even eat different foods.

No prizes for guessing who gets the tastiest dinner.

And this is happening not only in the Himalayas of Asia, but in all the poor mountain regions of the world – from Africa to South America.

And it is in that context that Muhammad Hassan’s death is as sickening as it is unsurprising. One where sherpas and porters are treated like second class people.

To be honest, a mountain rescue at Muhammad’s height and in such snowy conditions probably wouldn’t have been best advised or even possible. But it says it all that so few people bothered to even try.

These men and women love the mountains they call home. How shameful that Muhammad had to pay with his life for others to experience that joy.