The snow came without warning. One moment, the climbers on Yalung Ri were pushing toward the summit under a thin November sun; the next, the slope began to roar.

Within seconds, an entire slope of the mountain was gone; replaced by a churning white wave.

When rescuers finally reached the site in Nepal’s remote Rolwaling valley hours later, two mountain guides lay dead, five foreign climbers were missing and feared buried, and eight others had somehow survived, airlifted to Kathmandu by helicopter the following morning.

It was one of the worst Himalayan avalanches of the season. But it didn’t happen on Everest, or any of the world’s 8,000-metre giants that make headlines each spring. It happened on Yalung Ri, a 5,630-metre peak few outside the climbing world have ever heard of; and that difference, experts say, is the real story.

Fewer deaths on Everest, more on the margins

While fatalities on Nepal’s most commercial mountains have dropped dramatically---Everest recorded only five deaths this spring and autumn combined despite the historic ski success, and Manaslu saw none despite more than nearly 500 ascents last month---the toll has quietly shifted to smaller, less-known peaks. According to Nepal’s Department of Tourism, a total of 1,450 climbers received permits to climb 59 peaks this autumn including 374 in Mount Manaslu (8163m), 36 in Dhaulagiri (8167m), 4 in Everest (8848.86m) and 2 in Lhotse (8516m). Besides Everest and Manaslu, the expedition in other eight-thousander mountains also went without a major disaster.

Across the Himalayas this autumn, three deadly incidents on Yalung Ri, Panpari Himal, and Himlung Himal have underscored a sobering divide between the world’s best-equipped climbs and those on the fringes.

Everest has money, doctors, helicopters, and endless oxygen. The government deploys liaison officer, even sets up a temporary office on the ground in the big mountain. Smaller peaks are overlooked. "The danger isn’t just altitude, it’s neglect and delay in rescue,” said Mingma G.

Nine hours in the snow

On Yalung Ri, survivors describe an ordeal that lasted hours.

“We were on our summit push early in the morning. It must have been around 9:30 when the avalanche hit,” recalled Sun Bahadur Gurung, a porter with Yatri Expedition, speaking from his hospital bed in Kathmandu’s HAMS Hospital. “We regained consciousness after some time and just lay there, waiting for help. It took almost nine hours before anyone reached us. The first rescue came around six in the evening, when it was already dark.”

His colleague Lakpa Tamang, another porter, suffered crushed ribs, a punctured lung, and multiple fractures. Doctors say he will need at least three major surgeries.

The two dead guides, Padam Tamang and Mere Karki, were found buried under metres of snow. The five foreigners still missing are Paolo Cocco and Markus Kirchler of Italy, Marco Di Marcello of Canada, Manfredi Christian Andre of France, and Jakob Schreiber of Germany. At the avalanche site, rescue began not with officials but with other climbers.

Phurba Tenjing Sherpa, head of Dreamers’ Destination Treks & Expedition — and a 17-time Everest summiteer — was among the first to arrive.

“The helicopter couldn’t land until evening, and by then it was already too dark to work,” he said. “Before that, it was just us, digging with our hands. We pulled out whoever we could.”

Authorities later confirmed that a combined team from the Nepal Army, Armed Police Force, and Nepal Police reached the site only after 24 hours — delayed by poor weather, heavy snow, and the two-day walk from the nearest road.

“The area is extremely remote. Everything, even permission and arrangement for helicopter flights, takes time,” said Deputy Superintendent of Police Gyan Kumar Mahato in Dolakha.

The Yalung Ri disaster unfolded as Hurricane Montha, a tropical storm sweeping north from India, lashed Nepal’s Himalayas with unseasonal rain and snow. Visibility dropped to almost zero, grounding rescue flights and cutting radio communication across several valleys.

The same storm claimed the lives of two Italians, Farronato Stefano (51) and Caputo Alessandro (28), on Panpari Himal (6,887 metres) in western Nepal, where they were found frozen in their tents at Camp I after being trapped since October 28.

And on Himlung Himal, an Australian climber, Chin-Tark “Chinny” Chan, died last week amid a bitter dispute between rescue operators and insurers over flight authorization — a bureaucratic delay that cost critical hours.

“It’s not the mountain that kills, but the paperwork,” said renowned mountaineer as well as expedition operator Mingma Gyalje Sherpa, known as Mingma G. “We lose lives waiting for permission that comes too late.”

The cost of inequality

Each Everest season pumps an estimated USD 100 million into Nepal’s economy. That money buys manpower, oxygen, doctors, satellite weather systems, and swift helicopter rescues. But the smaller peaks--where expeditions cost a fraction--often depend on minimal teams, limited insurance, and uncertain logistics.

“We were literally using our hands. We could have saved some more lives if we had enough resources and manpower,” said Phurba. “Unlike in bigger peaks, on peaks like Yalung Ri, you have few disorganized, uncoordinated teams many, like in this particular case, unknown to each other.”

The imbalance is visible in the rescue response. In places like Rolwaling or Panpari, helicopter flights require special clearances because the zones lie near the Tibet border. “ At first, we couldn’t properly assess the seriousness of the situation as we didn’t even know exact number of climbers struck. We had to rely on information from villagers which took several hours. By the time permissions come through, the golden window for rescue has passed,” said a police official. an official in the Home Ministry.

According to Mahato, the poor weather also hampered the timely assistance. Autumn is generally considered a good season for trekking and climbing smaller peaks because of stable weather and clear views.  It is the reason there has been rise in number of climbing permit for autumn in recent years. This year, however, was different. Late monsoon and storms like Montha shattered that pattern — exposing how fragile mountain safety remains beyond the spotlight of Everest.

“Not the tallest, but the toughest”

Back in Kathmandu, the injured survivors of Yalung Ri lie in scattered hospitals, bandaged and bruised, their stories echoing the same refrain — that help came too late.

For the families still waiting for news of the five missing climbers, the mountains are now silent.

In the glossy world of high-altitude tourism, Everest has grown safer, richer, and more controlled. But in the smaller peaks-- in Dolakha, Gorkha, Manang, and Rolwaling-- the real dangers still live in the thin air between money and survival.

“It’s not always the tallest mountains that take the most lives,” said Sobit Gauchan, a rescue pilot. “It’s the forgotten ones.”