A Letter to Jim Whittaker From an Everest Guide He Mentored
Jim Whittaker, the first American to summit Everest, passed away on April 7, 2026 at the age of 97. He first stood atop Everest on May 1, 1963. Melissa Arnot Reid, the first American woman to summit and descend Everest without oxygen, knew Jim as a friend and climbing mentor. Here, she remembers Jim by writing a letter to him.
Dear Jim,
I’ve been thinking so much about you—about the life you lived, so fully and generously, always with that unmistakable touch of whimsy. Sitting here just days after your passing, I feel the space of your absence, but also the fullness of all that your life was. A life truly, deeply lived.
Much will be said about what you accomplished in the mountains, and of course it matters. You broke trail for so many of us, showing what steady leadership looks like when the way forward isn’t clear. You believed in yourself, and that belief made room for others, like me, to believe in ourselves, too.
In a sport that often focuses on the individual summit and personal glory, you always pointed toward something bigger: the team, shared purpose, the idea that the journey is richer when it’s collective. The Peace Climb, the first American K2 expedition, Everest in 1963—these are extraordinary chapters. But what I keep coming back to isn’t any of that. It’s the way you made me feel.
Before we ever met, your name was already important to me. I had worked alongside your twin brother Lou for years on Rainier. When we finally met in 2009—just after I had returned from my first Everest expedition—I already sensed something familiar in your presence. You greeted me with a big bear hug and genuine curiosity. You asked thoughtful questions and you listened. You treated me simply as a fellow climber, nothing more and nothing less.
Later, I came to understand how intentional that was—how deeply you believed that women belonged in the mountains. Not as support staff or accessories. Our first meeting was your 80th birthday celebration, atop the space needle in Seattle. That night, you moved through a room full of accomplished mountaineers, business associates, and friends, not by dominating it, but just by being yourself. You made time for everyone and I noticed how special that was.
A few years later, I was lucky enough to trek with you and Dianne toward Everest Base Camp as you saw your son Leif off on his own expedition. Watching the three of you together was something I will never forget—the ease between you, the closeness and the understanding that only comes from a life built together. You shared stories of raising Leif on a sailboat. In your view, a life of adventure wasn’t optional, but essential. You would often recite your vision, “No child left inside!” much to the approval of those who surrounded you.
You walked the trail with curiosity and wonder, noticing what had changed and what hadn’t, moving through the world with steadiness. I remember thinking it must have been that same steadiness that served you so well—in the mountains, and in everything beyond.
I walked behind you on the trail, quite literally in your footsteps. I started my career on the same mountain you started yours: Mount Rainier. Your early American Himalayan expeditions paved the path for my own years later. Sharing the trail to Everest Base Camp with you was a delight and somewhat surreal, knowing the history you had made. As we hiked, every so often, you’d reach up and shake a branch heavy with snow, just enough to send it falling on me as I passed. Then you’d laugh—and I’d laugh, too. I was so glad to b witness how much that journey meant to you and to share even a small part of it.
One of the things I’ll carry with me most is how you held confidence and joy together so effortlessly. It showed up in small and big ways. The checkered Vans sneakers, worn on any occasion. The perfectly timed joke. The understanding that doing hard, meaningful things should still leave room for delight. You never seemed to lose sight of that, and your life reflected it beautifully.
Thank you, Jim, for the way you led. For reminding me that reaching the top is never the end of anything but often only the beginning of what comes next. Thank you for climbing the big mountains, then bringing lessons of adventure, curiosity, and generosity back down with you. Thank you for making space for me in the mountains, right alongside you.
Your life matters to countless adventurers who have followed in your steps. It matters deeply to me. You left the world better than you found it, and that is no small thing.
Thank you for leading the rope, in the mountains and in life, and for all the kindness along the way.
Sincerely,
Melissa
Melissa Arnot Reid is a mountain guide based in Washington state. She is the first American woman to summit and descend Everest without the use of supplemental oxygen. She is the author of ENOUGH: Climbing Toward a True Self on Mount Everest. Her nonprofit organization, The Juniper Fund, supports families and communities impacted by the loss of Himalayan high-altitude workers, while improving the safety margin of Nepali climbers through community-based education programs, including the Khumbu Climbing Center.
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