Pakistan’s towering mountains are as breathtaking as they are perilous. In recent months alone, 12 climbers have lost their lives attempting to conquer these formidable peaks. Among them was Nims Dai, one of the most accomplished mountaineers of his generation. He set a world record by summiting the 14 highest peaks globally in just over six months, and later repeated the feat without supplemental oxygen. Tragically, he was just two summits away from completing another 14-peak challenge when an avalanche on Broad Peak claimed his life along with nine others, including fellow Pakistani climber Sohail Sakhi.
The loss of these climbers reopened wounds for many, recalling the death of Ali Sadpara, Pakistan’s most renowned mountaineer, who died descending K2 in 2021 alongside two foreign climbers. Despite these tragedies, most visitors to Pakistan’s northern regions come not to climb but to admire the majestic, snow-capped giants from a distance.
Gilgit-Baltistan, the region home to these peaks, has long struggled with a high suicide rate, with locals often describing the mountains and the roaring Gilgit River as forces that draw people in, sometimes with fatal consequences. Yet, not all who venture into these heights do so recklessly or with a death wish.
Take Alex Honnold, the legendary American rock climber featured in the Academy Award-winning documentary Free Solo. He famously climbed the nearly 3,000-foot El Capitan in Yosemite Valley without ropes or safety gear. When asked about fear, Honnold explained that he spent nine years preparing for the climb, meticulously studying every detail with safety equipment before attempting it without. His confidence came from exhaustive preparation, underscoring the immense mental and physical strength required to undertake such a feat with no margin for error.
However, not all climbers approach the mountains with such rigorous preparation. Some Western adventurers with limited high-altitude experience pay tens of thousands of dollars—and in luxury expeditions, over $100,000—to attempt Everest. These expeditions offer guides, Sherpa support, oxygen, high-altitude camps, and even comforts like heated dining tents, private chefs, and espresso machines. Despite these resources, some climbers still do not return.
For others, the mountains offer a profound source of inspiration and vitality. A talented musician who performs with Pakistan’s biggest pop star recently took a break from touring to climb a 6,000-meter peak in Shigar Valley. When questioned about his shift from music to mountaineering, he explained that the mountains were not a distraction but a source of artistic inspiration, saying, “Art is supposed to come from life, not be a substitute for it.”
Another climber friend shared that the experience of climbing makes them feel truly alive. And if death occurs, it is not considered a bad way to go. This perspective challenges the basic human instinct to avoid risk and seek safety, as most people weigh risks against rewards in daily life, from crossing streets cautiously to wearing seatbelts and buying insurance.
Mountaineering may be an exception to this rule, where the reward—the awe, the challenge, the sense of being alive—is beyond ordinary comprehension. There are no formulas or spreadsheets to measure the value of wonder and awe. Climbers understand the dangers intimately, having witnessed avalanches, storms, crevasses, and death firsthand. Yet they return, not out of recklessness, but because they feel a profound calling.
Falling in love might be the closest analogy, as love often leads people to act against pure logic. Mountains seem to have a similar effect, drawing climbers upward into thin air and among the highest peaks on Earth. Though difficult for many to grasp, these adventurers would rather risk everything on these slopes than be anywhere else.
In the words of Nims Dai, “Giving up is not in the blood, sir.”
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