Insights from Everest Engineering’s Team Launch Workshop
The summit of Mount Everest, at 8,848 metres, is the closest you can get to touching the sky while remaining on Earth. It’s a place of breathtaking beauty and brutal hostility. For decades, we’ve been captivated by the stories of those who reach it. But the real story isn't about one person standing on the peak; it's about the intricate, life-or-death collaboration that gets them there. In today’s competitive business landscape, the lessons learned in the "Death Zone" are more relevant than ever. Forget trust falls; true teamwork is forged when the stakes are absolute.
On an Everest expedition, the objective is crystal clear: reach the summit and, just as importantly, return safely. This ultimate goal is non-negotiable and understood by everyone, from the lead guide to the cook at Base Camp. However, the roles within the team are highly specialised and distinct. You have Sherpa guides, masters of the mountain, who fix ropes and carry immense loads. You have the expedition leader, who monitors weather patterns and makes the final go/no-go decisions. You have a doctor managing the team's health and climbers who, while the "clients," are responsible for their own physical conditioning and mental fortitude.
This mirrors the ideal corporate structure. A company's mission—to be the market leader, to innovate a new product—must be the unwavering "summit." But within that shared vision, individuals must have complete ownership of their specific roles. A salesperson shouldn't be expected to code, and an engineer shouldn't be making marketing decisions. The team's strength comes not from everyone doing the same thing, but from each member executing their unique function with precision, trusting that others are doing the same. When the rope is fixed, the climber must climb. When the code is shipped, marketing must launch. It’s a chain of specialised trust.
Above 8,000 metres, in the infamous "Death Zone," the lack of oxygen impairs cognitive function. Judgment becomes clouded, and communication is reduced to its most essential form. Hand signals, single words over a radio, and the simple act of checking a teammate’s oxygen regulator become lifelines. There is no room for ambiguity, ego, or passive aggression. Information must be shared immediately, honestly, and without fear of blame. A climber admitting they are too exhausted to continue isn't a sign of weakness; it's a critical data point that allows the leader to make a decision that protects the entire team.
In the business world, we often suffocate communication with jargon, corporate politics, and a fear of admitting fault. A project heading off the rails, a budget spiralling, or a team member burning out are our corporate "altitude sickness." The Everest model teaches us to foster psychological safety, where delivering bad news early is encouraged. A team that hides problems is a team destined to fail. Leaders must create an environment where a simple, clear, "This isn't working," is met not with anger, but with a collaborative, "Okay, how do we solve it?"
No one attempts to climb Everest in a day. The body must adapt to the extreme altitude through a gruelling process of acclimatisation—climbing high and sleeping low, over and over, for weeks. This methodical, patient process builds the foundation for the final summit push. Teams that rush, that ignore the process, are the ones that fail, often with tragic consequences. They succumb to exhaustion, frostbite, or acute mountain sickness long before the peak is in sight.
This is perhaps the most ignored lesson in the corporate world. Driven by quarterly pressures, we often demand a sprint to the summit without the necessary acclimatisation. We launch products without adequate research, scale teams without proper onboarding, and demand results without building foundational processes. The "move fast and break things" mantra has its place, but in high-stakes environments, it's a recipe for burnout and collapse. Successful teams, like successful climbers, respect the process. They celebrate the small wins—reaching Camp 1, a successful product beta—knowing these are the essential steps that make the ultimate goal achievable. They understand that patience isn't inaction; it's strategic preparation.
