There is a distinct kind of energy in a room filled with people who look at the world’s highest peaks not as distant backdrops, but as personal invitations. Yesterday evening, the Mantashov Hall at the Elite Plaza Business Center was buzzing with that exact energy. Mountaineers, hiking enthusiasts, and curious souls packed the venue for a highly anticipated event: a chance to sit down with Gevorg Gasparyan and Hayk Margaryan (HT Hayko), the two Armenian climbers who just made history on Mount Everest.

For the Armenian mountaineering community, May 2026 will forever be etched in stone. Within a span of just 48 hours this past May, the Armenian tricolor was raised above the clouds not once, but twice.

Listening to Gevorg and Hayk speak yesterday, you realize very quickly that conquering Everest is only about 10% physical strength; the rest is pure, unadulterated willpower.

The Siren Song of the Dead and the Psychology of Stress

Before Everest, Gevorg admitted he was plagued by a terrifying realization: “I had seen base camp before, and I was sure I couldn’t survive there for two months. It was my first major disappointment—just confronting my own mental limits.”

But the real psychological warfare begins the moment you step above that baseline. On Everest, mortality isn’t an abstract concept; it is your literal geographic marker. “The very first corpse is lying right under your feet,” Gevorg recalled, his voice dropping as the hall grew utterly silent. “You can tell by the faded, weathered gear that it’s a body from 30 or 40 years ago. It’s just… sitting there. Waiting.”

That constant proximity to death morphs into a suffocating, ambient dread. Gevorg and Hayk described the psychological weight of the “Death Zone” not as a dramatic battle, but as a seductive, terrifying lethargy. When the thick fog rolls in between Camp 1 and Camp 2, a heavy, unnatural drowsiness takes over your body.

“The climbers get exhausted, they sit down to rest, and regardless of their will, sleep might overcome them,” Gevorg explained. “They fall asleep, and that’s it. They never wake up again. The mountain doesn’t scream at you; it whispers you to sleep.”

The Terrifying Geometry of the Khumbu: A Game of Russian Roulette

When asked which peaks pushed them to their absolute limits, both climbers agreed that while technical giants like Khan Tengri or Ama Dablam demand total mastery, Everest inflicts a unique kind of mental torture through the notorious Khumbu Icefall.

“The Khumbu is pure Russian roulette,” Hayk shared transparently. “It doesn’t care how good of a climber you are. It’s a moving city of shattered ice, shifting a meter or two every single week. Imagine towering, skyscraper-sized blocks of ice hanging directly over your head. At any given millisecond, one can just collapse and erase you.”

The only defense against the Khumbu is speed and timing—racing through its jaws in the dead of night when the freeze temporarily locks the ice in place. But knowing you have to survive that gauntlet six times over the course of an expedition eats away at your sanity. “It torments you,” Hayk admitted. “That thought just relentlessly chews at your mind before you even lace up your boots.”

Smokes, Tea, and the Split-Seconds That Saved Their Lives

The most breathtaking moments of yesterday’s talk revolved around two separate instances where God, by a matter of minutes, decided these two men should live.

Exactly one hour into his very first acclimatization climb, Gevorg’s Sherpa stopped to smoke a cigarette. Five minutes of rest. Just as they took their first steps forward after the break, a massive, building-sized wall of ice collapsed directly ahead of them, obliterating the path and burying climbers.

“If my Sherpa hadn’t stopped to smoke, we would have been right in the dead center of that avalanche,” Gevorg said. The hall erupted into a mix of nervous laughter and applause as he joked, “A rare plus for smoking mountaineers!” Yet the humor faded quickly as he described the grim aftermath: the desperate screams of survivors, and watching rescuers use ice axes to dig an Indian climber and a Sherpa out from the suffocating debris.

But the twists of fate didn’t stop there. As Gevorg was heading up into that chaos, Hayk was heading down from a separate rotation.

“I was in a frantic hurry to get back to base camp,” Hayk told the audience. “But my Sherpa insisted we stop at Camp 1. He said, ‘Let’s just dangle our feet and drink some tea for 15 minutes.’ I argued, but I gave in.”

When Hayk finally descended to the massive ladder spanning the Khumbu crevasse, he walked into a horrific scene of fresh blood on the snow, scattered car-sized ice chunks, and rescue helicopters screaming overhead. It was the exact avalanche Gevorg had just survived. If it hadn’t been for those 15 minutes spent drinking tea, Hayk would have walked directly under the collapsing ice. “In his case, a cigarette saved him,” Hayk smiled. “In my case, it was a cup of tea.”

A Surreal Meeting Amidst the Blood and Ice

Then came the moment that felt less like reality and more like a scene from a movie. In the immediate, chaotic wake of that avalanche—amidst the whispers of panicked climbers, the wreckage of the icefall, and the literal blood on the snow—the two Armenians crossed paths.

“Suddenly, out of the smoke and madness, I see Gevorg coming from the opposite direction,” Hayk laughed.

Up there, completely encapsulated in heavy down suits, goggles, and oxygen masks, recognizing another human being from a distance is impossible. But as they squeezed past each other on the narrow, fixed safety line, their eyes met. Two sons of Armenia, thousands of miles from home, standing in the middle of a collapsing Himalayan glacier, locking eyes just long enough to share a couple of breathless, quiet words of strength before moving back into the storm.

A New Chapter in a Storied History

Yesterday’s meeting wasn’t just a celebration of Gevorg and Hayk; it was a nod to the legendary figures who paved the way. The evening highlighted a beautiful timeline of Armenian resilience on Everest:

• Lev Sarkisov (1999): The first Armenian to summit Everest, entering the Guinness Book of World Records at the time as the oldest person to do so at age 60.
• Igor Khalatyan (2002): The first citizen to register his climb with a Republic of Armenia passport.
• Karo Hovasapyan (2011): Who raised both the tricolor and the HMEM scout flag at the peak.
• Irena Kharazova (2016): The first Armenian woman to ever conquer the mountain.
• Ara Khachaturyan (2016): Who summited just two days after Irena, dedicating his climb to the centenary of the Armenian Genocide and global peace.
• Avetis Kalpaklyan & Arno Ter-Sahakov (2019): Who incredibly scaled the mountain on the exact same day—Avetis from the southern Nepalese side and Arno from the harsher, windier northern Tibetan route.

Final Thoughts

As the event wrapped up with a lively Q&A session, the audience got to look at the raw, unedited photos and videos from the peak. Seeing our flag flapping against the backdrop of the curved blue horizon of the Earth was a poignant reminder of what Armenians can achieve when they refuse to look down.

Gevorg and Hayk went to the Himalayas as individual climbers, but they returned as symbols of an unbreakable national spirit. They proved that no matter how long the hiatus, through the avalanches, the psychological torment, and the sheer unpredictability of fate, Armenia will always find its way back to the top of the world.