High on the frozen spine of Mount Everest, where each breath is a negotiation with the thin air and the cold cuts straight to the bone, survival is never a certainty. For Australian mountaineer Lincoln Hall, 2006 would become the year that defined him — a year when life and death collided in the most merciless environment on Earth.
His ordeal would defy logic, stun the global climbing community, and stand as one of the most extraordinary testaments to human resilience ever recorded on the world’s highest peak.
On Everest, nothing comes easy. Every meter is earned with discipline, training, and a deep respect for the mountain’s dangers. Hall knew this intimately. He was an accomplished climber, seasoned by years of expeditions across the world. Yet nothing could fully prepare him for the events that unfolded near the summit that spring.
In late May 2006, Hall joined an expedition bound for the 8,848-meter summit — a dream he had long nurtured. But at more than 8,600 meters, deep inside the deadly realm climbers call the “death zone,” that dream suddenly unraveled.
Hall developed high-altitude cerebral edema, a severe and often fatal swelling of the brain brought on by extreme altitude.
His condition deteriorated rapidly. He became confused, disoriented, and began hallucinating — ominous signs of the life-threatening crisis unfolding inside his body. His Sherpa guides fought desperately to keep him alive, urging him forward as a brutal storm closed in, temperatures plunged, and nightfall threatened to seal his fate.
Their oxygen was nearly gone. The cold was unbearable. After hours of struggling to move him, the Sherpas made a decision no climber ever wants to face. They reported to the expedition leader that Hall had stopped breathing. Believing he had died, and with their own lives on the line, they were forced to leave his body behind.
The news spread quickly down the mountain. In Australia, Hall’s family received the devastating message that he had died just below the summit of Everest. They began mourning the unimaginable — unaware that the story was not over.
High above, on a narrow ridge in the darkness, Lincoln Hall had not died. Against every conceivable odd, he regained consciousness. He awoke alone, disoriented, and nearly unprotected from the brutal elements. He had no gloves, no hat, no goggles, no oxygen — all removed by those who believed they were tending to a body.
He sat perched beside an 8,000-foot drop, the temperature far below freezing, the wind screaming across the ridge. Under normal circumstances, no human could survive such exposure for more than minutes. Yet somehow, Lincoln Hall endured the night — a medical mystery that continues to puzzle doctors and mountaineers alike.
At dawn, another climbing team approached. Led by American mountaineer Dan Mazur, the group initially assumed the figure ahead was another body — a grim but familiar sight on Everest. But as they drew closer, the “body” sat up.
Hall looked at them with surprising composure and said,
“I imagine you’re surprised to see me here.”
Mazur and his team were stunned. Hall was alive — frostbitten, hallucinating, severely weakened, but unmistakably alive. They were within reach of the summit, yet suddenly confronted with an unthinkable choice.
Continue upward and leave him to die?
Or abandon their once-in-a-lifetime summit bid to try to save a stranger?
For Mazur, Myles Osborne, Andrew Brash, and Jangbu Sherpa, the decision was instantaneous. A human life came first.
They gave Hall oxygen, warm clothing, food, and water. They sheltered him as best they could and called for help, knowing full well how few rescues succeed at that altitude. Yet they refused to abandon him.
For hours they stayed on the exposed ridge, fighting the cold and wind, doing everything possible to keep him alive. Eventually, Sherpas from Hall’s expedition climbed up from below and began the slow, exhausting process of lowering him down the mountain.
Hall was brought to the North Col, then to Advanced Base Camp, where he was treated for frostbite, dehydration, and the swelling in his brain that had nearly killed him.
Against all expectations, he survived.
The climbing world erupted in disbelief. Everest has never been short on tragedies, but a climber returning from the dead? That was almost unheard of. Hall’s survival was quickly dubbed “the resurrection on Everest,” and his story made headlines worldwide.
Though frostbite claimed the tips of some fingers and a toe, Hall recovered. Remarkably, he harbored no anger toward the Sherpas who left him behind. He understood the impossibility of their situation.
He later chronicled the ordeal in his book Dead Lucky: Life After Death on Mount Everest, reflecting on the razor-thin margin between life and death and the profound spiritual shift he experienced, shaped in part by Tibetan Buddhist teachings.
Rescuer Dan Mazur and his team were widely celebrated. Letters of praise poured in from global leaders, celebrities, and everyday people alike. National Geographic honored their extraordinary courage.
Mazur later offered a simple but powerful reflection:
“You can always go back to the summit. But you only have one life to live.”
Lincoln Hall lived six more years after his near-death on Everest. He spent that time writing, traveling, championing humanitarian efforts, and cherishing his family. Yet another battle awaited him.
In 2012, Hall died at age 56 from mesothelioma, a rare cancer linked to asbestos exposure from his early years working as a laborer. His death had no connection to Everest, but the dignity and strength he showed throughout his illness echoed the courage he displayed on the mountain.
He left behind his wife, his two sons, and a legacy that continues to inspire climbers, adventurers, and anyone who has ever faced overwhelming odds.
Lincoln Hall’s story remains one of mountaineering’s greatest survival tales — a powerful reminder of life’s fragility, the resilience of the human spirit, and the extraordinary things that become possible when compassion overrides ambition.
His ordeal on Everest is more than a story of survival. It is a story of hope, humanity, and the miracles that sometimes — inexplicably — unfold eight thousand meters above the Earth, on the coldest mountain in the world.
