How Many People Climb Everest Each Year

Ever wonder how many people actually climb Everest each year? It’s a bit like wondering how many people line up for the midnight release of a hot new video game, except the game is a frozen rock taller than a jumbo jet flies. The real number is both more chaotic and more casual than you might expect. Basically, it’s a lot—but not so many that you’d bump into someone at the summit like you do at the grocery store on a Sunday.

The Annual Crowd: A Snowy Block Party

Each year, roughly 800 to 1,200 people try to stand on top of the world. That’s the total number of climbers, not including the guides, porters, and yak herders who make it all possible. If you picture Mount Everest as a very, very tall line for a bathroom at a concert, those 1,200 climbers are the ones in the front row. The rest of the mountain is basically a moving sidewalk of Sherpas carrying oxygen tanks and tents.

This number has exploded since the 1990s, when only a few dozen daring (or crazy) folks made the trek. Now, it’s like everyone and their aunt decided to check “climb Everest” off their bucket list during spring break. In fact, the peak season—late April to late May—is so packed that climbers joke about “traffic jams” at 8,000 meters. Imagine sitting in gridlock on the highway, but your car is your legs and the exit is thin air.

The 2023 season saw a record-breaking 600 summits in a single week, which is more people than live in my entire neighborhood. That’s like your local coffee shop trying to serve a whole town’s worth of lattes in one morning. The result? Queues that would make a Black Friday shopper blush, with climbers waiting over an hour in the “death zone” just to snap a selfie.

Why So Many? (And Why Now?)

Part of the reason is that mountaineering companies have turned the climb into a sort of extreme package holiday. You don’t need to be a tough-as-nails adventurer anymore; you just need a big wallet, a decent fitness level, and a willingness to pay for bottled oxygen. It’s like booking a trip to Disney World, except the “It’s a Small World” ride is a 20-foot ice wall and the “churro” is a compressed energy gel.

Then there’s the social media factor. Everyone wants a photo from the top, a shot that screams “I’m cooler than you, and also I might die.” One climber told me his mother only agreed to let him go after he promised to post hourly Instagram stories. Now, the mountain has its own hashtag—#EverestSelfie—which is both brilliant and terrifying.

But let’s be real: most of these 1,200 people are not professional mountaineers. They’re dentists, software developers, and retired teachers who saved up for years. It’s a little like watching your dad try to assemble IKEA furniture while wearing flip-flops—determined, expensive, and slightly concerning. Yet, they go, and they bring a ridiculous amount of gear. I heard of one guy who brought a portable espresso machine. On Everest. To make lattes. At 27,000 feet.

The Reality of the Numbers

Of those 800 to 1,200 climbers, only about 60% actually reach the summit. The rest turn back because of weather, altitude sickness, or because they forgot where they put their spare socks. That’s like finishing only half a marathon because you lost your car keys—except the marathon is in a snowstorm and the prize is not freezing to death.

And here’s a sobering stat: for every 100 people who reach the top, one or two don’t make it down. That’s a survival rate that would make your average bungee jumper look like a chicken. But climbers don’t think about that. They think about the view, the bragging rights, and the fact that they’ll never have to mow a lawn again.

The mountain has its own calendar, too. Spring is prime time—about 75% of all climbs happen in May. Winter climbs are so few you could count them on one hand, mostly because nobody wants to freeze their butt off for a week. It’s like trying to have a picnic during a hurricane; you just don’t do it unless you’re a weirdo named Wim Hof.

So, What’s the Takeaway?

If you ever think about climbing Everest, remember this: you’ll be sharing a tent with a guy who packs a hot water bottle and a woman who sings show tunes at base camp. The annual crowd is less a noble quest and more a giant, freezing, high-altitude mixer. You might meet your future spouse there (true story: a couple got engaged on the summit last year and then argued about whose turn it was to carry the ring box).

In the end, the number—around 1,000 people per year—is proof that humans are both incredibly brave and a little bit ridiculous. We queue for hours to climb a pile of snow just to say we did it. And then we post a photo and go home to order pizza. That’s the Everest experience: a chaotic, crowded, utterly magnificent mess. And honestly? I kind of respect it.