"Awe pulls you toward something vast and beautiful. At the same time, it reminds you that what inspires you could also destroy you."
KATHMANDU
Mike Harker, Public Affairs Chief at US Embassy Nepal, became the first American Foreign Service Officer to summit Mount Everest on May 20. He has returned with a deeper reverence for both the mountain and the risks it demands. In an exclusive interview with The Himalayan Times, he recounts the danger, survival, and recovery that reshaped his respect for the mountain. Excerpts:
At the Hillary Step, you thought you might become the next frozen body on Everest. What happened?
Climbing Everest moved constantly between exhilaration and fear. Above 8,000 metres, in the Death Zone, your world narrows to the next breath, the next clip, the next secure step. That concentration was tested on a near-vertical section of the Hillary Step during the busiest summit day of the season, when a descending climber lost his footing, fell directly onto me, and clung to my body as several climbers hung from the rope beneath us, their screams muffled by their oxygen masks.
Only minutes earlier, I had passed the frozen remains of a climber who had died years before. As I fought to steady my breathing and tighten my grip, one thought cut through everything else: 'I could become the next frozen body on Everest.' If I fell, I could also seriously injure the people below me. After several frightening minutes, I somehow regained my strength, reached the next ledge, and continued upward.
When I finally reached the summit, the terror of the Hillary Step fell away. I looked across the panorama of peaks below us, searching for Lobuche, which I had climbed the previous autumn. My guides and I unfolded the Nepali and American flags from our packs, smiled for selfies, and celebrated what we had accomplished during the 250th anniversary year of American independence.
Knowing I was the first American Foreign Service Officer to reach Everest's summit gave the moment added meaning, but it did not feel like an individual achievement. It felt like the culmination of years of support, friendship, and trust. Up there, I thought about my family, my friends, and everyone who had prayed for my safety, along with my Sherpa guides who helped me reach that moment.
Your journey to Everest began long before summit day. What first drew you toward the mountain?
My Everest expedition began 20 years ago, when I first came to Nepal as a backpacker and trekked the Annapurna Circuit. I still remember standing at Annapurna Base Camp at sunrise, watching the first light gather behind the peaks and hearing the crack of avalanches echo through the valley. The scale of it was overwhelming. For the first time, I understood awe not simply as beauty, but as the feeling of standing before something magnificent, immense, and indifferent to your presence.
In the years that followed, I climbed other mountains around the world, but the awe I first felt in the Himalayas never left me. When I returned to Nepal in 2024, this time as an American diplomat, Everest offered a way to return to that feeling, but on a far greater scale. Early on, I met an extraordinary group of climbers who had spent their lives turning the impossible into routine through a hard-earned understanding of the mountains. Their confidence was never reckless; it came from experience. Spending time with them changed the way I saw Everest. It stopped feeling like a distant dream and began to feel like a serious but achievable goal, provided I trained hard enough and had the right team beside me.
How dangerous was the descent?
Reaching the summit required endurance, but descending demanded something even harder: the ability to remain fully alert when my body and mind were beginning to fail. By the time I left the summit, reached Camp 4, and continued downward, I had been awake for nearly 30 hours with little food or water. Exhaustion was no longer simply physical; it had begun to distort my judgement.
At one point after dark, I reached toward the next fixed rope and closed my eyes for an instant. A profound sense of warmth and peace came over me, as though Chomolungma herself had wrapped me in a gentle embrace. I saw myself clipping onto the rope, but when I opened my eyes, it was still beyond my reach. Perhaps it was a hypoxic hallucination. The realisation was immediate and terrifying: one imagined movement, one moment of lost concentration, could be fatal. From then on, every step and every rappel became an exercise in forcing my mind to remain present.
Later that night, another climber descending above me slipped and slid toward me, dislodging a rush of ice and rock. One large chunk struck my cheekbone hard enough to snap my head sideways. In that moment, I felt completely powerless, but the choice was brutally simple: lie down, fall asleep, and likely die, or steady myself and keep descending. So I kept moving.
How did the descent change your understanding of Everest?
The full physical cost of the descent became clear after I left Everest, when I received treatment for frostbite on my hands and feet. Frostbite can develop through prolonged cold exposure rather than at a single moment, and in my case, it followed hours in extreme cold, with wind-chill temperatures approaching minus-50 degrees Celsius. In a London hospital in late May, I could not walk and used a wheelchair. Now I am back on my feet, and my doctors have said the pace of my recovery is remarkable.
Recently, one evening in Basantapur, I stood across from Kaal Bhairav and noticed a man in a wheelchair beside the shrine who had lost both feet. I walked over, and we exchanged a quiet Namaste. My own frostbitten hands were still covered by gloves. The exchange did not make my injury less real, and our experiences were not comparable, but it broke the narrow frame through which I had been viewing my recovery. I had been absorbed in my own pain; he reminded me to look beyond it.
It is humbling how quickly life's focus can shrink from the highest mountain on Earth to the tip of a finger. I see the injury not as punishment, but as a reminder that sacred places are not safe simply because they are sacred. I climbed Everest, was marked by it, and returned with a deeper reverence for both the mountain and the risks it demands.
In many ways, the injury and recovery continue to deepen my understanding of what drew me there in the first place: the search for awe. Awe pulls you toward something vast and beautiful. At the same time, it reminds you that what inspires you could also destroy you.
How would you describe the Sherpas' role in Everest climbing?
Long before I set foot on the Khumbu Icefall, I got to know some of Nepal's most accomplished climbers, including Sherpas who hold multiple Guinness World Records. Once on Everest, I understood that their confidence came from familiarity with the mountain at its most unpredictable. They seemed to read the clouds, the ice, and a climber's condition almost as a diplomat reads the room.
On Everest, that judgement became a lifeline. During the descent, when exhaustion was distorting my thinking and every movement demanded concentration, my guides from Seven Summit Treks, Lakpa Sherpa and Mikel Sherpa, kept me moving safely through the most dangerous hours of the expedition. When I was ready to quit, they never added fear to the moment. Their calm steadied me.
They did far more than guide me toward the summit. Their knowledge, patience, and judgment made a safe return possible. My thanks extend beyond my own team to the wider Sherpa community, whose skill makes countless expeditions possible each season. On Everest, ambition may take you upward, but it is the Sherpas who make sure the mountain gives you back.
What was the Ascent Summit, and why did the US Embassy choose to focus on Nepal's adventure-tourism sector?
The idea behind the Ascent Summit was simple: Everest is not only Nepal's highest peak; it is one of its greatest economic assets and one of the world's most recognisable brands. We wanted to create new partnerships between American companies and Nepal's adventure tourism industry, bringing together mountaineers, tourism leaders, technology and gear companies, entrepreneurs, and investors to explore how innovation can strengthen one of Nepal's signature industries.
The response exceeded every expectation. More than 1,600 industry leaders attended in a single day, making it the largest public event that US Embassy Nepal has ever organised, while our digital content reached more than 20 million people online. That response demonstrated the enormous international interest in Nepal's combination of adventure, expertise, and innovation.
We were also grateful to welcome US Under Secretary of State for Public Diplomacy Sarah Rogers, whose participation underscored the importance the United States places on its partnership with Nepal. American alpinist Conrad Anker joined leading figures from Nepal's tourism industry, reinforcing a simple message: when American innovation and investment meet Nepali expertise, both countries benefit.
Do you have any suggestions for Nepal's climbing industry, particularly regarding Everest expeditions?
Nepal already possesses something no other country can replicate: the Himalayas and one of the world's most experienced mountaineering communities. The greatest opportunity is continued investment in safety, guide training, rescue coordination, weather forecasting, waste management, and reliable technologies that make expeditions safer and more sustainable.
Protecting Everest is not just about conservation; it is about protecting one of Nepal's greatest economic assets. Adventure tourism creates jobs, supports local businesses, strengthens Nepal's global brand, and brings people from around the world into direct contact with Nepali culture and hospitality. Preserving what makes Nepal extraordinary is also one of the smartest long-term investments the country can make.
What did Everest teach you that others might carry into their own lives?
Everest taught me that there is rarely a perfect decision, only the best one available after weighing the risks, timing, terrain, and strength of the people beside you. Before the climb, I believed that enough preparation could make almost any risk manageable. That belief had served me throughout my career as a diplomat. But on Everest, preparation could not control the weather, another climber's mistake, or whether my own body would continue to function. The mountain did not teach me that preparation was futile. It taught me the difference between being prepared and being in control.
That lesson also changed how I think about achievement. People often see the summit, but they rarely understand the weight carried along the way or the long periods when progress is difficult to measure. Remarkable outcomes are usually built quietly, through discipline, patience, and the decision to keep moving even when the destination remains out of sight.
That is why, especially when speaking to young Nepalis, I emphasise the value of time. Used well, it allows small efforts to compound into skills, confidence, and opportunities that may seem distant today. Choose your companions carefully, take risks, and trust that consistent work is carrying you forward even when progress is not yet visible.
After standing on top of the world, where do you go next?
Everest did not feel like an ending. It sharpened my interest in the other ways Nepal can build lasting opportunity from its natural and cultural strengths as the United States and Nepal approach 80 years of diplomatic relations. Adventure tourism is one part of that story, but wellness tourism is another. Many people who come here to test themselves in the mountains are also searching for stillness, recovery, and renewal.
Nepal is well positioned to offer both challenge and restoration in the same journey. By connecting American investment, hospitality expertise, wellness companies, and technology with Nepal's traditions and landscapes, we could create experiences that invite visitors to slow down, stay longer, and discover the country beyond a single trek or summit.
That was true when I first came to Nepal 20 years ago, and it remains true today. The mountains brought me here, but the more I experience, the more I understand that they are only the beginning of what makes this country so extraordinary.
