An oral history of Everest's endearingly dysfunctional village

By Brad Wetzler

Greg Child

This month, some 500 climbers from around the world, along with their support crews and hired Sherpas, will set up camp on a rock-strewn glacier at the foot of 29,035-foot Mount Everest, in the Khumbu region of northeastern Nepal. By all accounts, the strip of moraine that serves as Everest Base Camp is a barren wasteland, capable of sustaining little save the few single-cell creatures and lichens that live on the million-year- old granite. It affords no view of the upper section of the mountain that weighs so heavily on the minds of the many climbers who venture there. But twice each year, in the spring and the fall, this barren slag heap gives rise to a thriving ripstop metropolis, home to several hundred Sherpas, the native people of the Khumbu region, as well as an elite mountaineering citizenry who can afford the permits and equipment necessary to scale the monolith.

Like any city, Everest Base Camp has its own social structure, an astonishing collection of amenities, and just as many problems. It even has an official waste-removal staff that empties dozens of latrines on a regular basis. With pulses quickening in anticipation of clear skies and a chance to make the summit, Outside decided to take a look back at the history of this little village at the top of the world. What follows is a catalog of recollections, edited for length and clarity, as told by the hardy individuals who've made it their home over the last 48 years.