There is an old curiosity of mountaineering literature: the unseen companion. Particularly on Everest, high in the death zone (above 8,000 metres), where the air has roughly a third of the oxygen available at sea level. It’s been described as an extra presence. It appears when your body is a sack of broken glass and your mind a leaking battery in the howling waste. The phenomenon has been reported often enough to have acquired a name: the Third Man Factor. Neurologists call it a hallucination. But one notices (in reports) that the hallucination is invariably constructive. It doesn’t urge men and women to lie down and die. What’s remarkable is the number of times it’s been reported. The newcomer arrives as a fellow traveller. Someone walking just off your shoulder, matching your pace. Oddly calm and professional, encouraging you onwards. Even their silence is reassuring rather than ominous.
The upper reaches of Everest have produced many such accounts. Frank Smythe, descending from the mountain in 1933, became so convinced of a companion’s presence that he broke off a piece of mint cake to share with him. More than seventy years later, the British physician Jeremy Windsor, exhausted and hypoxic near the summit, found himself accompanied by climber whom he named Jimmy and had a full conversation with him. Others have reported the same phenomenon in Antarctica, at sea, in deserts, in disaster zones, in the lonely aftermath of accidents and shipwrecks.
We’ve always been reluctant to accept that the most mysterious experiences may arise from ordinary tissue. The neurological explanation is less mystical than it is strange. Our sense of being a self and occupying a body, moving through space, is a given. But to achieve that the brain must constantly integrate signals from vision, touch, balance, proprioception and memory into a coherent account of who and where we are. Under conditions of severe stress, that integration can falter.
One region that has attracted particular interest is the temporoparietal junction, a patch of cortex involved in constructing the boundary between self and other. Neuroscientists have shown that disrupting activity in this area can produce the vivid sensation that another person is standing nearby, mirroring one’s movements. The figure is not seen in the ordinary sense, but felt. The brain appears to externalise part of its own representation of the self and then experiences it as a companion.
The combination of hypoxia and sleep deprivation may make such misfires more likely.
Yet the phenomenon has another aspect that neuroscience doesn’t fully capture: the presence being helpful, shepherding people through circumstances in which they might otherwise surrender. Why should there be a voice suggesting the next crevasse to avoid? Why a steadying hand at the small of the back when the legs have turned to water? One is tempted to think that the brain, faced with conditions for which evolution made little provision, is manufacturing the thing most likely to improve the odds of survival: another human being.
Whether Dawa Sherpa encountered such a figure is known only to him. Perhaps there was no phantom, only a lifetime of mountain knowledge operating below consciousness. Either way, one hopes he has many years ahead of him: many more climbs and many more evenings spent telling stories that sound impossible.
Dawa Hillary Sherpa (52 años, de Okhaldhunga, Nepal), guía sherpa experimentado, fue dejado atrás el 29 de mayo de 2026 (último día de la temporada) durante el descenso del Everest, cerca de la zona de la muerte.
Dawa guiaba a un cliente polaco con Himalayan Traverse Adventure (agencia nepalí). El cliente —que escalaba sin oxígeno suplementario— sufrió congelaciones graves cerca del Collado Sur (Campo 4, 7.950m), por lo que dieron la vuelta.
En el descenso por la Cara de Lhotse (cerca del Campo 3 / Yellow Band, 7.500-7.600 m), Dawa se detuvo a descansar con mochila pesada y les dijo al cliente y a otro sherpa que siguieran. Se separaron.
El cliente y otro sherpa llegaron al Campo 2 (6.400 m), de donde fueron evacuados en helicóptero. Dawa no apareció.
La temporada en el Everest cerraba ese mismo día. Los Icefall Doctors retiraban las escaleras de la Cascada de Hielo del Khumbu poco después (zona 5.500-6.000 m).
Su empresa tardó días en reportarlo y no activó una búsqueda inmediata.
El miércoles 3 de junio subió un helicóptero (de 8K Expeditions, a petición de la familia), pero no lo vio a pesar de buscar desde la Cascada de Hielo hasta Campo 3.
Críticas duras por negligencia y falta de apoyo.
Final milagroso (hoy, 4 de junio): Dawa sobrevivió 6-7 días solo en la montaña (sin oxígeno, sin comida, solo, sin ayuda).
Bajó arrastrándose más de 2.000 m por la vertiginosa Cara de Lhotse, Western Cwm y la peligrosa Cascada de Hielo del Khumbu, arrastrándose hacia el Campo Base . Un equipo de limpieza lo encontró cerca del Crampon Point, consciente pero con graves congelaciones. Dawa hablaba lento y estaba débil. Le dieron una sopa caliente. Fue evacuado en helicóptero a Kathmandu, donde está en el hospital recuperándose.
Su familia ya preparaba los funerales.
Pero como dice la canción de Cheo Gallego:
"Nadie sabe si luego de la muerte podemos vernos,
nunca;
Que si el infierno que resguardas tú
Lo guardas, pero en tu yo interno
NUNCA."
📷Mingmar Sherpa/Capitán Bibek Khadka