The Curse of Amne Machen

by M.P. Pellicer | Stranger Than Fiction Stories
It all started when George Pereira was directed by a Tibetan shepherd to the cave of a holy man. Pereira had left in March, 1920 on a marathon walk from Shanghai across Tibet, China and then to the Caspian Sea. He was traversing where none had gone before, and by himself. Several months passed until he arrived at the Tibetan holy man's cave.

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Brig. General George Edward Pereira c.1918

George Pereira (1865-1923) was a British Army officer, writer, diplomat, and explorer. His family was descended from an old Roman Catholic family of Portuguese origin that was involved in the 19th century with the Chinese trade in Macao. He served in several battles in WWI, where he was known to the men as "Hoppy" because of the lameness he suffered from after a riding accident. He had served as a British military attaché in Peking from 1905 to 1910, was fluent in Chinese, and had made many journeys into China and Tibet on foot. Thus did Pereira find himself immersed in the trek that led him to the holy man's abode.

Pereira was surprised to find the man spoke in perfect but archaic Italian, and more so when he learned the man had never left the cave since he was a boy, and Pereira was the first European he had met.

The two men discussed Pereira's travels, and then the holy man told him about Amne Machen which lay hundreds of miles further inside Tibet, and was the highest mountain in the world.

Pereira was fascinated with the story, but didn't believe it was true since Everest was known as the highest peak in the Himalayas.

The man insisted that Amne Machen was thousands of feet higher.

The two men spoke deep into the night about the mountain, and Pereira learned the mountain was protected by dedicated tribesmen and by a curse.

There was no doubt that a warning was being issued when the holy man said that if he succeeded in slipping past the Gholok warriors, then he would be struck down by the curse, which none could escape, even if it took months or years. If a man were an unbeliever, he could not escape with his life after laying eyes on Amne Machen.

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Pereira died before having the chance to return with an expedition to find Amne Machen

The story whetted Pereira's appetite to see the mountain. He wandered about Tibet and China for a year, following different clues in search of the mythical peak, even though most natives were silent about the subject or warned him away. 

Then came the day when he saw the point from about 70 miles away. The vast Amne Machen range soared thousands of feet into the clouds and dwarfed other mountains near it.

Pereira had seen different mountain ranges in other continents. He had climbed the Himalayan range, the South American Andes, and seen the Canadian Rockies, but he calculated Amne Machen was loftier.

He made plans to return to England and organize an expedition. The holy man's warning was forgotten.

Pereira arrived at a village on the Tibetan Chinese border and met the American explorer and botanist Joseph Rock. He told Rock about the mountain, who initially was skeptical; however, four years later, despite death threats from the Golog Tibetans, Joseph Rock ventured to within 50 miles of the mountain.

The next day after visiting with Rock, Pereira set off towards the coast. A few hours after crossing into China from Tibet with a caravan train of merchants, he suddenly tumbled from his horse, clutching his chest with both hands. Within moments, he died. The Chinese and Tibetans thought he had been struck down by the curse. Their fear was so great that they refused to touch his body.

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Illustration of Pereira's expedition into Tibet

​It turned out heart failure had killed Pereira, and those who knew him were surprised since he had been such a fit and healthy man. When news reached the outside world, most didn't believe in the mountain or that he had been killed by the curse. He had only been in his mid 50s when he set out on the expedition.

He was buried in Kantze near Batang, Sichuan, in October, 1923.

​During WWII, several Allied pilots found they had almost come to grief and barely averted crashing into a mysterious mountain on the Chinese border with Tibet. Their altimeters recorded heights of more than 30,000 feet, almost 1,000 more than Everest.

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Death of Sir George Pereira c.1923

A few years after the war, an American journalist, inspired by the rumors, set off to find Amne Machen and claimed to have found it. The scientific instruments for recording the mountain's height had been damaged by native bearers' rough handling. Three white men made up the party. One of them was killed by a landslide a few days after the discovery, the second died from typhoid fever in Peking, and the journalist drowned several months later.

This story is unverified. The only possible reference is an expedition undertaken in 1948 by Milton Reynolds (1892-1976), a Chicago millionaire. He traveled to China on his plane, The China Explorer, which was a retrofitted Douglas A-26 Invader, supposedly to find Amne Machen. He believed the mountain range was higher than Everest. He hired war hero Bill Odom (1919-1949) as a pilot. Odom had flown the air route over the Himalayas from India to China during World War II. The copilot was Tex Sallee (1917-1990).

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Reynold's plane The China Explorer c.1940s

They ran into problems when they arrived in China, and much of the retrofitting had to be corrected. On April 1, the plane lost a wheel on the runway as it taxied to leave. Upon hearing the repair would take weeks, Reynolds cancelled the expedition, and the next day it was flown to another airport in Shanghai. Then, without getting clearance from the Chinese government, the plane left with the three men and returned 13 hours later, having never submitted a flight plan. The plane was held by the government, and the men were told they were to undergo questioning as to where they had gone on the trip.

Instead of going to a hotel, the men went to the airport, told the manager they needed to test the engines, and took off with cold engines and only using 2/3 of the runway. The control tower was also not alerted that they were leaving. They headed to Japan, where they were escorted by U.S. fighter planes 150 miles from the coast. Chinese officials demanded they be returned, but General Douglas MacArthur refused.

The other part of the expedition, made up of staff from Life Magazine and the Boston Museum of Science, was left to answer questions posed by the Chinese government. According to a Life photographer, Tex Sallee said they had attempted to fly over Amne Machen, but bad weather turned them back.

Reynold's family said his expedition was a cover, in which the United States was trying to ascertain if the Chinese were developing nuclear power.

​Bill Odom was killed two years later in 1949 after his plane crashed at the National Air Races in Cleveland. He was 29 years old.

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The Golok people were guardians of Amne Machen who they believed was a sacred mountain

Amne Machen is revered in Tibetan Buddhism as the home of the deity of Amdo, Machen Pomra. The entire range is an eastern extension of the Kunlun Mountains. The highest point is measured at 20,610 feet and is 23rd in height among the peaks of China. Before the communist takeover, up to 10,000 Golok people would trek 120 miles each year to the summit. The Golok were known as ferocious fighters free from Tibetan and Chinese control.

Amne Machen was reached in 1981 by 3 groups. One from Japan, one from the United States, and the other from an Austrian-German expedition. They did not find evidence of an earlier ascent. Later that summer, a Canadian group and then an Australian expedition arrived.

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George Leigh Mallory with his wife Ruth

Around the time of Pereira's expedition to find Amne Machen, three Mount Everest expeditions were mounted in 1921, 1922, and 1924. George Leigh-Mallory (1886-1924) was an English mountaineer who participated in all three. He and climbing partner Andrew "Sandy" Irvine were purportedly last seen ascending near Everest's summit during the 1924 expedition. The mystery of their demise was whether they had reached the summit before dying.

In 1933, another attempt was made to scale Everest. An ice axe was found about 60 feet below the crest of the Northeast ridge. It was ascertained to belong to either Mallory or Irvine.

In 1977, the axe was re-examined, and four sets of marks were found on the shaft; this was in addition to prior marks found in 1933.

In 1999, an expedition reached 26,900, where they established Camp VI. A body was found at an elevation of 26,800 feet. It was partially frozen and well-preserved. Tied to the corpse's waist was the remains of a braided cotton climbing rope. It was assumed to be Irving, but when labels that read: "G. Mallory, G. Leigh. MA" and a third one were found on the clothing, as well as letters addressed to Mallory, it confirmed they found Mallory, and not Irvine. The mountaineers buried the corpse with rocks. This finding presented circumstantial evidence that Mallory might have reached the summit first.

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Alexandra David-Néel, in Tibet c.1933

While efforts were being made to find and climb Amne Machen and Mt. Everest, Alexandra David-Neel disguised herself to enter Lhasa, which was forbidden to foreigners.

She trekked through India and Asia and was expelled in 1916 by the British forces for trespassing into Tibet. Since WWI was underway, she could not return to Europe. She instead studied at monasteries in Korea and Japan, accompanied by Aphur Yongden, 15, a Sikkimese lama who accompanied her on her travels and eventually became her adopted son.

The two then trekked 5,000 miles across the Chinese empire, either on foot or by mule, yak, or horse. This was while the country was in the middle of a civil war. After witnessing battles and having to negotiate with warlords in order to secure passage, they reached the border of Tibet in 1923. They disguised themselves as Tibetan pilgrims.

The pudgy, middle-aged woman went where no European had gone before, crossing a 19,000-foot mountain pass in winter. It took four months to reach the city of Lhasa where Alexandra laid eyes on the Potala Palace, home of the Dalai Lama since the 7th century. Still disguised, they stayed 2 months in Lhasa until the British discovered them, and they were expelled. 

She returned to France in 1928 and published  Magic and Mystery in Tibet

In 1937, she left again, this time reaching Tibet through the Soviet Union. She stayed in the eastern highlands and walked around Amne Machen.

Alexandra died at home in 1969, just before her 101st birthday.

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Irvine and Mallory before the 1924 Everest expedition c.1924

In 2024, a hundred years after he disappeared, a National Geographic team found part of Irvine's corpse on the Central Rongbuk Glacier, at an altitude of at least 7,000 feet lower than where Mallory's body was found.

Tragedy in the mountains proved to recur among others. Mallory's brother, Sir Trafford Leigh Mallory, died on a mountain range when the Avro York carrying him crashed in the French Alps in 1944, killing all on board.

Mallory's daughter, Frances, married Glenn Millikan, who was killed in a climbing accident in 1947, at Buzzard's Roost in Fall Creek Falls State Park, Tennessee.

Frances Mallory's sons, Richard and George Millikan, became climbers during the 1960s and 70s. In 1995, George Mallory's grandson reached the summit of Everest.

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Memorials on Mt. Everest

On May 16, 2025, it was reported that Philipp Santiago, 45, died on May 14, and Subrata Ghosh on May 15, while climbing Mount Everest. It's undecided if the bodies were to be brought down, since it's a difficult and expensive venture. Two Sherpa support staff, who became ill at the Everest base camp, were evacuated but later died while being treated at a hospital.

Earlier in the week, Margareta Morin died above Camp 4 of the 28,169-foot Himalayan mountain. Kanchenjunga is the third-highest mountain after Mount Everest and K2.

The week before Alexander Pancoe died while attempting to climb Mount Makalu, the 5th-highest mountain in the world.

The months before an Austrian climber died while descending Nepal's Ama Dablam at 22,349 feet.

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A Sherpani leaves her thumbprint with her husband’s employer before his Everest expedition in 1922. If he dies, she will receive his unpaid wages.

There are many casualties in what is known as the "death zone," where altitude sickness is experienced due to the thin air and low oxygen levels.

Everest was first climbed in 1953 by the New Zealander, Edmund Hillary, and Nepali Sherpa Tenzing Norgay. More than 300 people have died on Everest since then.

The "curse of Mount Everest" is a term used due to the high number of deaths and tragedies that have occurred on the mountain. ​Are these the victims of the curse of Amne Machen, or something more pervasive that acts as an undeniable allure that brings men and women to their untimely deaths?

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Tenzing and Edmund Hillary in the Himalaya

Sherpa life has always been deeply intertwined with Tibetan Buddhism. Mountains are not simply landforms—they are sacred beings. Everest, for example, is known locally as Sagarmatha in Nepali and Chomolungma, meaning “Goddess Mother of the World.”

Sherpas entered global awareness in the early 20th century, when British expeditions began attempting to summit Everest in the 1920s. Initially, they were hired as porters—valued for their strength and ability to function at high altitudes. But it quickly became clear that they were far more than laborers. Their knowledge of the terrain, weather, and mountain behavior made them indispensable.

Before any climb, Sherpas traditionally perform a puja ceremony, asking the mountain’s spirit for permission and protection. This spiritual respect contrasts sharply with the modern commercialization of climbing.

Over time, Sherpas have gained increasing respect as some of the most skilled mountaineers in the world—not just support staff, but elite climbers in their own right.

​Today, the Sherpa identity exists at a crossroads.

As Everest becomes more commercialized, tensions have grown—between tradition and profit, reverence and exploitation.

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Modern day sherpa

Suspicion has begun to coil around Everest like a tightening rope. 

This time, it centers on those climbers trust most—the Sherpas. Disturbing reports suggest that some guides may have deliberately poisoned tourists, triggering staged "medical rescues" designed to drain insurers of millions. Investigators describe a system built on deception: forged paperwork, fabricated emergencies, and helicopters summoned under pretenses. Nearly $20 million may have been siphoned through the scheme.

If these claims hold, they reveal something darker festering within the climbing world—a system no longer just strained, but corrupted from every direction. Climbers fall mysteriously ill. Emergencies get called in. Paperwork gets forged. Helicopters lift off. And insurers, piece by piece, get drained.
Investigators uncovered a network that appears both widespread and carefully structured, with multiple trekking companies tied to the operation.

In January, 2026, authorities arrested six executives connected to three major mountain rescue firms, cracking open what may be one of the largest fraud cases in the region.

Police allege that the groups siphoned at least $19.69 million through fraudulent insurance claims.
One company reportedly fabricated 171 out of 1,248 rescues, pulling in more than $10 million. Another allegedly falsified 75 of its 471 rescues, claiming around $8 million. A third stands accused of submitting 71 fake rescues worth over $1 million.

Prosecutors now seek $11.3 million in fines.

A court spokesperson confirmed that officials have placed the case under “high priority,” signaling just how deep the damage may run.

And this isn’t the first time shadows have fallen over Nepal’s tourism industry—an industry that supports more than a million lives. In recent years, major international insurers have pulled out, unwilling to absorb the growing tide of suspicious claims.

What once stood as a sacred challenge now risks becoming something else entirely. Elite climbers treat the mountain like a discardable prize. Operators—if these allegations prove true—treat it like an endless cash machine.

And Everest remains at the center of it all.

Silent. Watching. Enduring; perhaps.

Now a difficult question rises: should the climbs stop altogether? Trash litters the slopes. Water sources grow questionable. Sacred ground erodes under constant pressure. Even the Sherpas—the mountain’s most trusted guardians—face suspicion.
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At first, the story feels impossible—too intricate, too brazen. But the deeper you look, the more it begins to make a grim kind of sense. The mountain has endured years of exploitation. Its slopes have been treated like a proving ground for egos, its sacredness reduced to a transaction. And now, something beneath the surface feels… off.

Climbers fall ill without warning. Emergencies arise too neatly. Money flows where reverence once stood.

It raises an uncomfortable question: when a sacred place gets pushed too far, does it simply endure—or does it respond?

Far from Everest, another mountain offers a darker answer.

In the remote highlands of Qinghai, China, rises Amne Machen—a peak wrapped not just in snow, but in legend. To the Tibetan people, it is no ordinary mountain. It is the earthly seat of a powerful deity, a protector spirit whose presence commands respect, silence, and distance. For centuries, pilgrims have circled its base in ritual devotion. But one thing they do not do is climb it.

Because Amne Machen is said to be cursed.

In 1949, a Chinese expedition attempted what locals had long forbidden. The climbers dismissed the warnings, confident in their gear, their planning, their modern certainty. They set out to conquer the mountain.

Few returned.

Accounts vary, as they often do with stories whispered rather than recorded. Some say violent storms materialized without warning, tearing through camps that had stood secure only hours before. Others claim that climbers vanished outright—no bodies, no traces, as if the mountain itself had swallowed them whole. Survivors spoke of overwhelming dread, of an unseen presence that pressed against them in the thin air, urging them to leave.

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Amnye Machen Cultural Center c.2016

Since then, Amne Machen has remained largely untouched. Not because it cannot be climbed—but because it should not be.

The locals never needed proof. They understood something outsiders did not: certain places are not meant to be taken.

And that is where the unease begins to bridge the distance between these two mountains.

Everest may not carry the same explicit curse, but it has not gone unscarred. Waste litters its slopes. Its ice hides the remains of those who never made it down. Its sacred identity has been overshadowed by commerce, ambition, and now—if the allegations are true—fraud and exploitation from within.
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The parallels feel hard to ignore.

On one mountain, warnings were ignored, and something answered.

On the other hand, the warnings have been quieter—buried under contracts, expeditions, and profit margins. But the signs are there. The sickness. The corruption. The slow unraveling of trust.

Maybe it isn’t a curse in the way stories describe.

Maybe it’s something older. Something quieter.

A balance tipping too far.

And if Amne Machen teaches anything, it’s this: Some mountains don’t need to fight back loudly. They just wait. And when the line is crossed—they remember.

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