Paragliding Mount Everest: Into Thin Air

A Tale of Altitude, Adrenaline, and Airborne Ambitions Come True

Two years ago, I called Mount Everest Base Camp home. I traversed the ice falls, snail-trailed the snowy inclines, and huddled alongside my Sherpa in our ice-cloaked tent just below the summit.

This month-and-a-half adventure resulted in my takeoff just below the summit, making me the first person to legally paraglide off Mount Everest. 

To commemorate my experience and encourage other athletes to do the same, I decided to compile my social media snippets and updates into an article.

Below, I share my experiences, from the literal and mental highs and lows to the literal and figurative breathtaking moments. 

If you have any questions, please leave a comment or send me a message via the contact page. 

So, without further adu, here is the story of my Everest flight! 

Mount Everest Base Camp & Acclimatization Antics

After just under two weeks of trekking through the forests, past Buddha shrines, and further up into the snowy peaks of the Himalayas, we started this adventure with a cozy little stay at Base Camp, which sits 5,300 metres above sea level. 

Icy air and the unmistakable scent of adventure (or maybe just unwashed climbers) surrounded us. Base Camp is a breathtaking sight — over a kilometer of vibrant yellow, red, and green tents sprawled beneath the Khumbu Icefall, sheltering more than a thousand climbers and support staff. My bright yellow tent was equipped with a stretch bed, mattress, and bedside table. Basically, everything you need for a cosy, comfortable 40-day stay. 

The communal insulated igloo (with a window overlooking the crowned snow-capped peaks of Pulmori, Luboche, and neighbouring summits) became our sanctuary. Many board games were played, cups of tea consumed, and nourishing meals enjoyed within this warm dome. A huge thank you to Asian Trekking and the on-site team; we couldn’t have been taken care of better.   

After about a week of acclimatization, exchanging farewells with friends and family who walked to base camp with us, and gearing up for the climb, it was time to prepare for the acclimatization hike. Lobuche Peak is a 6,100-metre scramble that gets the blood pumping and the legs burning. But the view makes every jagged breath worth it. 

Into the Jaws of Ice

Next came the legendary Khumbu Icefall. This frozen jungle gym is constructed of ice blocks and deep crevasses and serves as the first true test en route to the summit. You don’t just waltz through this thing; you tiptoe, leap, and sometimes question your life choices while dangling over an abyss, all whilst secretly praying to the huge hanging Seracs above to not let their grip on the flanks of Everest go.

We tried limiting the time in the Icefall, hence our climb up Lobuche. Now, we only needed to do one rotation through the Icefall before our final summit bid.

The first rotation was completed in the last week of April, when the weather had settled and created the ideal conditions for a hike up to camp 2 at 6,400m (where we spent the night and the following day acclimatizing). 

It’s hard to explain the feeling of being in the Icefall; it’s a feeling of majestic scale and beauty while simultaneously feeling “I should not be here, this is dangerous!” 

The ladder crossing and huge deep crevasses are something else. They’re put in place each season by a crew called the “icefall doctors” to aid in crossing crevasses and speeding up your time in the Icefall. With the glacier moving around two to four feet every 24 hours, these ladders and ropes had to be checked on a regular basis, a high-risk job!

We made it through, though, much to my relief and regular disbelief. The following day, we pushed on and up the steep Lhotse face to camp 3, plus a bit higher, reaching 7,400m without oxygen. Here, we had some lunch and rested in the sun for about an hour, taking in the marvels and grandeur of the Western cwm. 

At this point, I was still going strong. As long as I could stay healthy, I thought to myself, the summit would be attainable (little did I know what the gods had in store for me). 

We spent another night down in camp 2 and then descended back through the Icefall to Base Camp. On the way down, I ended up pulling my hamstring and lower back — not ideal, but I was sure that after some rest would be good to go. 

Unfortunately, my leg got worse and stiffer, even after drugs and lots of massaging. I then decided to fly out to Kathmandu and see a physio/ chiropractor. I spent four days seeing the doc, and he managed to sort the problem out with lots of back cracking. 

It was during this time, unbeknownst to myself, that I picked up a virus, either COVID or another. This, unfortunately, came to the fore on our summit push after my return.

Viral Villains & Oxygen Magic

Fast forward to May 9th. Our team of 12 split into two groups — Group A (5 climbers) and Group B (7 climbers). The plan was simple: power through the icefall and head straight to Camp 2 at 6,400m.

Simple, right? Well, my stomach had other plans. Just as I cleared the icefall, my body decided to throw a tantrum. Relentless nausea, vomiting, and the delightful sensation of wanting to crawl into a hole and request an evacuation.

Doc Christian at Base Camp diagnosed me with a mysterious virus and prescribed the classic “wait it out” approach. So, armed with a handful of pills and sheer determination, I stayed put at Camp 2 while my Team A buddies pressed on. 

After three days of throwing up anything I tried to eat and in a constant sweat despite it being -20 degrees, I finally rejoined Team B, still weak but stubborn as ever, with a mind set of “let’s see if I can make the next camp, and if not i will return to base camp.”

Camp 3. 7,200m. 

At this point, most climbers start using supplemental oxygen. I, however, managed 400m before realizing that without O2, I was essentially a glorified sack of potatoes. One deep breath of that sweet, sweet oxygen, though, and boom — instant superpowers. Camp 3 suddenly became a much friendlier place. 

The Big Decision: Summit or Soar?

Later that same day, at around 9 pm after a good 8 hours rest, my team was gearing up for the final summit push. 

The plan was simple: climb to Camp 4 at 8,000m in the South Col. This saw us taking a slow plod up via the Yellow Bands and past Lohtse’s High Camp to the final steep slope of the Geneva Spur and into the South Col. At this point, I was starting to feel normal again with my appetite and strength returning — happy days! 

After a few hours rest, we set off for the summit around 9 PM / 10 PM. I nearly joined them, but then came the gut-punch realization: summiting and paragliding down might not be possible.

Only three people had ever flown off Everest. But here I stood, with the legal permission golden ticket in hand, on the eve of perhaps breaking a personal and world first. 

The conditions were looking dicey, to say the least, and if I summited first, I risked missing the perfect window for flight (which on Everest can be few and far between).

So, the tough call was made: Fly first, summit another day!

Para-waiting at 8,000m

I had been following the daily forecast closely and getting updates from Stephen Dawwa Sherpa on a regular basis leading up to our summit bid, and there was a distinct pattern during this 7-day window.

The night was a symphony of flapping tent fabric and relentless wind. By morning, the sun was shining, the wind was a manageable 20–30 km/h, and my teammates were high-fiving their way to the summit.

But Everest wasn’t done playing games. Down below, the valley was sealed off with thick clouds from Camp 1 (6,000m) to Lukla. 

Do I launch and land at Camp 1? 

Do I wait for a break in the clouds?

Waiting won.

For two hours, I played the high-altitude version of “hurry up and wait,” watching the windsock like it held the secrets to the universe. Then, just as I was dozing off (oxygen deprivation is fun), I noticed something — the wind had dropped, and the clouds had started to part. 

This was it.

Time to Fly

I tumbled out of the tent, took one look down the valley, and knew: This is ON. The glider came out, the harness was strapped on, and after a brief battle with my “Michelin Man” suit, I was airborne.

And let me tell you: pure magic.

Ever wondered what flying at 80 km/h over the Himalayas feels like? Imagine floating through a dream where the world’s highest peaks roll beneath you like waves. The air was crisp, the view was indescribable, and for 20 glorious minutes, I was weightless.

I touched down just above the village of Gorak Shep at 5300m, where the gusty valley winds greeted me like an old friend.

Final Thoughts? “Toooooo gooooood!!!”

Looking back, every grueling moment, every bout of sickness, and every ounce of uncertainty was worth it. 

Everest is always there, waiting. But the chance to fly off its mighty shoulders? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime ride.