 For many years, the most lucrative commercial guiding operation on Mt. I’m referring to the unprecedented May 7 decision by Russell Brice, owner and expedition leader of Himalayan Experience (Himex), one of the largest and most successful operators on Everest, to cancel his climb, pull up stakes, and go home. That’s because, since so much is already in motion, it’s nearly impossible to reverse course, a pressure that only intensifies the closer teams get to the top. Annual Fatality Rates by Profession 
 
 (Deaths per 100,000 full-time equivalents) 
 
 Miners (2000-2010): 25 
 
 Commercial Fisherman (2000-2010): 124 
 
 Alaskan Bush Pilots (1990-2009): 287 
 
 U.S. military in Iraq (2003-2007): 335 
 
 Everest Sherpas (2000-2010): 1,332 
 
 Everest Sherpas (2004-2014): 4,053 
 
 The reason for the discrepancy is simple. I was terrified each of the eight times I moved through the frozen chaos, which usually took more than three hours to ascend, even with my nearly empty backpack, and slightly less than an hour to descend. A notorious photo shot by Ralf Dujmovits in May, 2012, showed more than a hundred and fifty people attached to a series of fixed ropes as they ascended the Lhotse Face toward the South Col of Everest, jammed together so tightly that they had to move in lockstep. If such an accident should come to pass in the future (which isn’t far-fetched), the death count for both members and Sherpas would be horrific.
– Jon Krakauer takes to the pages of the New Yorker to weigh in on the latest tragedy on Everest (the author was, of course, part of the 1996 disaster that saw eight climbers killed). His piece makes plain the imbalance between the dangers faced by Sherpas and the climbers they shepherd to the mountain's peak, but before arriving at that point, he shares a fascinating backstory: That of Himex, a New Zealand-based company that Krakauer calls the most "lucrative commercial guiding operation" on Everest—one that on May 7, 2012, packed up shop after 18 years on the mountain and headed home, taking its guides, members (aka paying climbers, who didn't see their $60,000 refunded), and Sherpas with them. The much-assailed decision was one made by owner Russell Brice, who had grown fearful of a 900-foot-wide overhang of glacial ice set directly above the main route on the mountain's Nepal side, an overhang that his members were directly under for as long as an hour while traversing the route. As Krakauer writes, the "wedge of ice the size of a Beverly Hills mansion" that broke free and caused last week's avalanche came from "that same ice bulge" and killed 16 Sherpas. As for the outsize dangers Sherpas face, some standout points: Between 1921 and 1996, the mountain's death ratio was a treacherous one death for every four completed ascents. Between 1997 and present, the death ratio was one for every 60. Among the reasons it's gotten safer: Climbers tend to pack and use more bottled oxygen, and some take the robust steroid dexamethasone once they hit 22,000 feet, which pares down the risk of developing the often fatal high-altitude cerebral edema and high-altitude pulmonary edema. Sherpas typically have less of the former and none of the latter (and are, of course, the ones lugging those extra oxygen bottles up the mountain). Krakauer points to an Outside piece that shares the professions with a lower calculated fatality rate than that of Sherpas: US soldiers stationed in Iraq between 2003 and 2007, miners, and commercial fishermen.