She climbed the summit, but never came home

I have two connections with Dr Asma Mushtaq. She belonged to Lahore, my city, and she worked in the United Kingdom, also my home. My heart goes out to her family.

There is something deeply tragic about a person reaching the top of a mountain and then never returning home to celebrate the victory.

Dr Asma Mushtaq went to the mountains with a dream. She was part of a five-member Pakistani women’s mountaineering team that set out to climb Spantik, also known as the Golden Peak, in Gilgit-Baltistan.

Spantik rises to 7,027 metres in the Karakoram range. It is one of Pakistan’s most beautiful and difficult mountains. Its golden and pink rock face gives it the name Golden Peak. But behind that beauty is a mountain that demands enormous courage, preparation and endurance.

Asma had that courage.

She was not simply a doctor who occasionally went hiking. She was an experienced adventurer and mountaineer. She had already climbed several difficult peaks and taken part in expeditions through some of Pakistan’s toughest mountain terrain.

She had also completed the winter climb of Musa Ka Musalla in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, a 4,076-metre peak. She had travelled through difficult snowy routes in places such as Rupal and Arandu. And she had a bigger dream. K2.

The world’s second-highest mountain was on her mind. In 2024, while seeking financial support for her mountaineering ambitions, she introduced herself simply as a doctor and a mountaineer.

Perhaps that tells us something about Asma. Medicine was her profession.

Mountains were her passion. And Spantik was another step towards a dream that she hoped would eventually take her to K2.

She made it to the summit.

Think about that for a moment.

After all the preparation, all the climbing, all the cold and exhaustion, she stood at the top of a 7,027-metre mountain.

She had done it.

But the mountain was not finished with her.

During the descent, at an altitude of around 6,400 metres, her condition suddenly deteriorated. The cold was extreme. Oxygen was dangerously low. The descent, which should have been the journey back to safety, became a fight for her life.

Her mountain guides, Akbar Ali and Muhammad Amin, reportedly tried everything they could to save her.

They stayed with her in extremely difficult conditions. They tried to provide medical assistance and bring her down.

But they could not save her.

Asma died on the mountain she had just conquered.

That is the part of this story that breaks my heart.

She reached the summit. But she never reached home. She never got to sit with her family and tell them what it felt like to stand on top of Spantik. She never got to look at the photographs and laugh about the difficult moments. She never got to celebrate her victory. The celebration was waiting for her at home.

She never arrived.

We often celebrate mountaineers only when they reach the summit. We see the flag, the photograph and the triumphant smile. But mountains have another story.

They remind us how small human beings can be against nature.

At 7,027 metres, there are no guarantees. The weather can change within minutes. Oxygen becomes dangerously scarce. A small medical problem can become a life-and-death emergency.

Yet people like Asma continue to climb.

Why?

Because some people are simply born with a restless heart.

They want to see what lies beyond the next ridge. They want to stand where few others have stood. They want to test themselves against something bigger than themselves. Asma was one of those people. She was a doctor. She was a woman from Lahore. She was a Pakistani working in Britain. She was an adventurer. She was a mountaineer. And she was a daughter, a sister, a friend and a member of a family that is now facing a loss that words cannot repair.

May she rest in peace.

And may her family find the strength to carry a grief that no mountain, however high, can measure.