What goes up Mount Everest doesn’t always come down. Abandoned tents, empty oxygen canisters, food wrappers, discarded equipment and excrement are the most common waste found on the world’s tallest mountain, where, due to temperatures as low as minus-50 degrees Celsius, nothing biodegrades, meaning more than half a century’s worth of detritus lies on the mountainside, earning it the moniker “the world’s highest garbage dump”. The immortal waste not only serves as a reminder of humans’ impact on even the remotest parts of the natural world, but also presents a risk to climbers struggling up a cluttered mountain or clipping onto old and rotten lines, and the communities below who deal with the pollutants from effluence washed into rivers by snowmelt.

Read more: How a US Warplane Shot Down in World War II Is Being Unearthed by Hong Kong Experts and Volunteers

As recreational climbing has increased in popularity, Everest, in particular, has been beset by scandal: a photograph posted by Purja showing hundreds of climbers queuing for their moment on the summit in 2019 inadvertently ricocheted around the world; tales of human waste (including bodies, which are near-impossible to remove) and the challenge of extracting it have left the climbing community asking whether it’s advisable, or even ethical, to promote Everest as a destination. Critics argue that, as mountaineering becomes increasingly commercialised, the barrier to entry falls, meaning that anyone with deep enough pockets and a reasonable level of fitness can feasibly add summiting Everest to their bucket list, potentially putting both clients and their guides at risk.

Although Purja says his photo does not convey normal conditions on the mountain, the ensuing sensationalised media coverage depicted Everest as a cramped playground for the wealthy, an expensive selfie location on the rooftop of the world where Sherpas do the hard work, with objects no one can be bothered to bring down scattered everywhere. But, as those who have spent time at altitude know, the solution is not as simple as filling a binbag after a picnic.

“You get hit by a storm; you lose your tent; your tent’s on the side of the mountain and your gear’s all scattered. You get down and you try to save your life,” says Malcolm Wood, owner of Hong Kong restaurant group Maximal Concepts and a mountaineer, para-alpinist and environmental advocate. “There are situations where you’re not going to be able to bring rubbish down; but on a nice day below the death zone, there should be extra people who you are paying for—not trying to negotiate the cheapest price—to climb this mountain. You’ve got to be able to provide the right amount of income to do it the right way.”

Read more: Filmmaker Craig Leeson On Climate Change And His Documentary, The Last Glaciers

Purja wants people to keep things in perspective. “I see a lot of people criticising those who leave trash on Everest, but it can be a matter of life and death. We can all talk from down here, but when people are struggling to put one foot in front of another, carrying extra weight down is a mammoth task.”

Rather than limit numbers on Everest or punish those who pollute, he envisages a future where commercial mountaineering and sustainability co-exist. His own company, Elite Expeds, takes a “leave no trace” approach, insists clients and guides adhere to environmental regulations, recycles or repurposes equipment, and predominantly uses solar panels to power its camps. He hopes that publicity drummed up by previous projects, including the first clean-up, brings more money for future outings. The challenge is finding capable climbers who are willing to take on an Everest project that doesn’t involve summiting (“summit fees” can run up to US$10,000) and can be more arduous than most guided climbs.

Rubbish at base camp has been an issue since the 1970s, but Nepali authorities only banned single-use plastics in the Everest region in 2020 in a bid to cut down on waste. Clean-up campaigns in the region operate regularly—in 2021, the Nepali army removed 28 tonnes of waste from six mountains—but poor infrastructure and accessibility, and a lack of education around environmental care compound the problem. Nepali NGO The Sagarmatha Pollution Control Committee asks climbers to bring down 1kg of rubbish to be disposed of at Lukla airport, the entry point to the Sagarmatha National Park for most people, which will then be flown to Kathmandu for processing; but the waste left by each climber is estimated to be 8kg. Even after removal, recycling is difficult, and open landfills and burning sites dot the region. In every way, conquering this challenge will be an uphill task.

Read more: Young Climate Activist Lance Lau on His Mission to Save the Planet

Purja is accustomed to feats others would deem insurmountable. Speaking via video call, far from any kind of vertiginous topography at his home on the southern coast of England, he returned from Nepal just days before and is preparing to collect an MBE in recognition of his achievements in mountaineering, including a rescue he carried out in 2016, from Windsor Castle days later. Despite his exasperation in the face of frozen waste, he remains a staunch advocate for the transformative power of mountaineering and its value to the Nepali economy.

The Nepal-born, British-based climber is famed for a dauntless mindset honed through years in the armed forces, first as a Gurkha, then as part of the Royal Navy’s Special Boat Service, an elite unit in which he served as a cold weather warfare specialist. Despite his poor upbringing in Nepal, he attended boarding school, funded by his three Gurkha brothers, and joined them as a soldier in 2003, moving to the UK shortly afterwards. He was recruited by the UK Special Forces in 2009, before leaving in 2019 to become a full-time mountaineer. The film 14 Peaks: Nothing is Impossible documents Purja and his team’s ascent of the world’s tallest 14 mountains, dubbed Project Possible, in just over six months, obliterating the previous record of more than seven years. It also highlights the lack of respect afforded to Nepali climbers, epitomised by Purja’s struggle to secure funding for his mission for which he ended up remortgaging his house.

“If this was done by some western climber, the news would have been ten times bigger than this,” Purja states in the film. Even after the record had been smashed, the climbing world piled on to pick holes in the achievement: he did it with oxygen, he had a large team, he used fixed lines. But Purja’s true impact lies beyond his world records, in showing that Nepali climbers are overlooked as mere accoutrements to their clients’ summiting successes and their stories are left in the shadows while foreigners are celebrated. On Purja’s expeditions, he foregrounds his team members and makes no secret of the fact he is accompanied by other climbers, bringing them exposure and endorsements too.

Detractors might swoop in again to undermine his latest project, but the Big Mountain Cleanup isn’t just a publicity stunt to attract more clients, says Purja, who was recently named a mountain advocate for the United Nations Environment Programme and a Global Goodwill Ambassador for Nepal Tourism; it is about improving the environment for those whose livelihoods depend on the mountains continuing to be a draw. “I have seen first-hand the effect of climate change and waste in the Himalayas. We want to protect and restore these sacred mountains for all those who call them home.”

Although he finally has the world’s attention, Purja says neither money, fame nor accolades motivate him. With no more mountains left to climb, his attention is fixed not only on improving the prospects of his countrymen, but also on lending his skill and platform to a pernicious waste issue that won’t go away without cooperation across borders and effort from the international climbing community. His experience, personal philosophy and love for the outdoors give him confidence he can pull it off.

“Nature is my home; it brings joy, happiness and peace. If I get stressed or worried, I go for the walk by the river,” he says. “If we protect nature, we protect ourselves. It’s very simple.”

NOW READ

This Hong Kong Robotics Start-Up Is Cleaning Up the Oceans

Young Women Lead Climate Change Activism, But Who Sets the Policies?

Seven of the Hardest Hong Kong Hikes You Need to Conquer This Season