In Nepal, the shadow of Everest stretches far beyond its snow-bound slopes. It dominates mountaineering headlines, fuels the trekking industry, and pours millions into the country’s tourism coffers each year.
But it also bears the weight of its own popularity: overcrowded routes, strained infrastructure, and environmental scars that refuse to fade. This September, the cost of attempting the world’s highest mountain during peak season will jump from USD 11,000 to USD 15,000 per person. At the same time, Nepal has quietly unveiled a counterbalance: ninety-seven peaks in its far-flung Karnali (77 peaks) and Sudurpaschim (20 peaks) provinces will be entirely free to climb for the next two years.
For Indian mountaineer and Guinness World Record holder Satyarup Siddhanta, who has summited both the Seven Summits and the Volcanic Seven Summits, the thinking behind the decision is clear. “Everest and its approach routes are saturated,” he says while talking to OT.
“Accommodation, waste disposal, even water supply—all are at their limits. By promoting these lesser-known peaks, they’re not just reducing pressure on Everest, they’re creating new products for adventure tourism.”
Nepal’s new “hidden peaks” initiative targets some of the country’s least-developed mountain regions. Most lie between 5,870 and 7,132 metres, with giants like Api, Api West, and Saipal now royalty-free. Until now, these mountains have seen little interest: in the past two years, only 68 climbers have attempted them, compared to more than 400 permits issued for Everest in 2024 alone.
For Siddhanta, that obscurity is part of their magic. “On the 8,000-metre peaks, especially Everest, everything is fixed, including ropes, routes, and camps. You just focus on performance,” he says. “But on a virgin peak, you plan everything yourself: the route, the safety, the logistics. It’s climbing in its traditional sense, and the satisfaction is much higher.”
The risks are just as real. Without established infrastructure, climbers must navigate unpredictable snow and ice conditions, limited rescue options, and long approaches through rugged terrain. But for those seeking more than a tick on their résumé, these challenges are part of the draw. “Being the first human to stand on a summit is a unique thrill,” Siddhanta says. “It doesn’t matter if you succeed or fail; the attempt itself is a huge achievement.”
The government hopes that waiving fees can pull climbers westward, spurring the growth of homestays, lodges, and basic tourism infrastructure. Siddhanta sees the economic logic. “Once people start going there, the demand will create supply. More stays, better roads, and improved facilities will emerge. That’s how tourism interest will grow,” he says.
Yet he is quick to point out that growth must be managed carefully. “These are fragile ecosystems. If development happens without planning, you could have homestays mushrooming next to riverbeds or in landslide zones. You also need to think about drinking water, sanitation, waste management, and even human waste. Otherwise, the problems we see on Everest will just move somewhere else.”
Karnali and Sudurpaschim are among Nepal’s poorest provinces, with low human development indicators and limited connectivity. For decades, their remoteness has kept them off the tourist trail. While that has preserved their landscapes, it has also meant few opportunities for locals. If the free-climb policy does attract more visitors, the economic impact could be significant, but so could the strain on communities that are unaccustomed to handling large numbers of foreign climbers.
The policy comes alongside a proposed regulation that would require anyone attempting Everest to first climb a peak over 7,000 metres in Nepal—making the newly free giants of the west a tempting option. Siddhanta, however, is cautious. “It’s not about making policies, it’s about enforcing them,” he says. “I’ve seen so many rules announced in Nepal, from garbage collection to climbing prerequisites, that are never really implemented. Agencies won’t want to lose clients, because it’s their bread and butter.”
And even if the regulation sticks, there’s no guarantee of a rush to the west. “Climbers often want the most from their limited holiday time, which usually means going for well-known mountains,” he says. “For these remote peaks to attract people, they need to offer something significant to a climber’s CV—a first ascent, a unique challenge. Otherwise, they may struggle to pull attention away from the established names.”
For Siddhanta, the greatest appeal of the new policy lies not in economics or regulation, but in the opportunity it offers true mountaineers.
“Attempting a virgin peak is about adventure, not speed records,” he says. “You plan the whole thing. Find the route, decide where to camp, and work with your team to make it happen. It’s much more personal.”
He speaks from experience. “Last year, I climbed a mountain called Gupt Parvat. We were the first in the world to summit it. That sense of achievement (of doing something no one has done before) is incomparable,” he says.
It is this blend of uncertainty, skill, and reward that he believes will draw a certain kind of climber to Karnali and Sudurpaschim. “These mountains will appeal to a section of the mountaineering community that wants the traditional climbing experience. Where the outcome isn’t guaranteed, and where success means more than just reaching the top.”
Whether Nepal’s hidden peaks will see a surge in interest remains to be seen. The two-year free-climb window may help generate buzz, but attracting repeat visitors will depend on more than waived fees. As Siddhanta notes, “If infrastructure and safety aren’t in place, the initiative could backfire. But if it’s managed well, it could be a game-changer for these regions.”
The stakes are high. For the climbers who venture into these rarely visited ranges, the draw will be as much about the journey as the summit. For the communities that live in their shadow, the influx could bring both opportunity and disruption. And for Nepal, the challenge will be to balance economic ambition with the preservation of the very wilderness that makes these peaks worth climbing.
For now, the mountains stand waiting; jagged, silent, and, in many cases, untouched. Somewhere among them lies the next great story in Himalayan climbing.
Q1: Why has Nepal opened 97 remote peaks for free climbing?
Nepal aims to reduce pressure on overcrowded Everest by promoting lesser-known peaks in Karnali and Sudurpaschim provinces. The two-year free-climb policy is also meant to boost tourism and infrastructure in these remote regions.
Q2: Which peaks are included in Nepal’s free climbing initiative?
The list includes mountains like Api, Api West, and Saipal, ranging from 5,870 to 7,132 metres. Many of these peaks have seen very few ascents in recent years.
Q3: How much are Everest climbing fees increasing?
From September, the fee for attempting Everest during peak season will rise from USD 11,000 to USD 15,000 per climber, further widening the cost gap between Everest and these remote peaks.
Q4: What challenges do climbers face on these remote Nepal peaks?
Without established infrastructure, climbers must navigate unpredictable weather, limited rescue options, and long approaches—making the experience more demanding but also more rewarding.
Q5: Who is Satyarup Siddhanta and what is his view?
Satyarup Siddhanta is an Indian mountaineer and Guinness World Record holder for summiting both the Seven Summits and the Volcanic Seven Summits. He supports the initiative but warns that development must be sustainable.