Mountaineering Socks Built for Everest

They say a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. For me, those journeys typically begin with a month of extreme procrastination, followed by two days of frantic, caffeine-fueled packing and checklists scrawled on curling post-it notes. 

That’s how I found myself, just a few hours before my flight to Nepal, walking the seven minutes from my house to the Darn Tough offices in Waterbury, Vermont.

I was there to talk Everest — and maybe score some socks.

A Season at Everest Base Camp

After years of living in Nepal and covering Himalayan Mountaineering for Outside Magazine, I had finally convinced my editors to send me to Everest Base Camp for the season. My goal was to report on the chaos and inspiration of the climbing season in real time.

I was also planning to launch my own content channel called Everest.Live with video updates from the mountain, offering a more granular and engaging look at the tallest mountain in the world. I didn’t know what kinds of controversy or drama to expect, but one thing was clear: given my limited baggage allowance, I wasn’t going to be changing my socks often.

A full month and 11 days of high-altitude hiking later, I arrived at my new home on the Khumbu glacier at 17,500 feet, my feet warm and dry in a pair of heavyweight mountaineering socks. I was one of approximately 2,000 climbers, guides, high-altitude workers and support staff living in the sprawling 2-mile tent city.

Socks for Extreme Conditions

I shared a camp with Arnold Coster, a Dutch mountain guide and one of the most experienced outfitters and guides on the mountain. This was his 22nd year leading expeditions on the mountain.

When he spotted the Darn Tough sticker on my coffee mug, he proudly yanked off his down booties to show me the pair he was wearing. “I love these socks!” he said, explaining how difficult they are to source in Kathmandu, where he lives most of the year.

Arnold stressed that in the brutal conditions of Himalayan mountaineering, proper footwear can mean the difference between life and death.

“A lot of mountaineers now are the ultra-runner types. They’re fit and accomplished, but they haven’t learned or practiced their systems at altitude. Above 7,000 meters, how you lace your boots in the tent can make the difference between coming home with all of your toes or not. Having good warm, durable and dry socks is a big part of this.” 

Even staying at Base Camp comes with a learning curve for protecting your feet with the right footwear system. For me, extending the use of my socks for as long as possible was key, as the closest laundry services were a three-day walk away and just the thought of washing my socks in the freezing glacial water made me put on an extra layer.

After sweating through a precious pair of socks in my insulated winter boots, then another in my down booties, I switched to wearing a pair of Crocs over my trusty heavyweight mountaineering socks - a system that worked remarkably well.

I grew to love the durability of the mountaineering socks, and the warmth and cushion they offered as I plodded for miles over the sharp glacial rocks of Base Camp in my plastic clogs. The socks were honestly much warmer than I expected them to be, given how relatively lightweight and compact they are.

Arnold explained this phenomenon to me, and said it was one of the main reasons he chooses Darn Tough. “It's very tempting just to buy the biggest and thickest socks you can find. But that's actually wrong. A sock with a thin microfiber yarn has much more insulation than a sock with a bigger yarn - all the small fibers trap a lot of air, and air is your insulation. The more air you can have in your sock, the warmer the sock will be.”

BASE Jumping Off Lhotse

Later in the season, I plodded my way across the melting glacier to visit Tim Howell, one of the world’s most accomplished and most ambitious BASE jumpers. He was back for a second attempt at claiming the record for the highest jump ever, and had picked a launch spot from a precarious ledge on a spur of Mt. Lhotse, which shares a basecamp with Everest.

Tim was planning to jump from 27,230 feet above sea level, which required forging a new route up a steep rock face at extreme altitude. He believed that if successful, this would be the highest BASE jump ever - as there aren’t any suitable spots to jump from on taller mountains.

Tim, sporting a wide mustache and a flat-brim cap, turned out to be much more understated than his ambition implied. “I developed my psych from free ride mountain biking and skiing,” he told me. “In those sports, you could go, like, ‘3-2-1 dropping in! Hell yeah!’ But that doesn't work for the sort of BASE jumper I want to be. I want to be sustainable. I want to live.”

He explained the math and calculations behind his jumps to me, which was surprisingly technical. “Now my motivation comes from doing a jump and doing it so well that you've got a huge margin for error,” he said. “It’s not about luck, or what people call luck. It's more about calculating and knowing that I can do it.”

Compared to the summit-obsessed energy of basecamp, Tim’s low-key, no-nonsense attitude was refreshing. “We’re not like sitting and crunching numbers all the time,” he said. “We’re not librarians. We still have a lot of fun.”

He, too, was wearing Darn Tough socks. “My feet are spot on,” he said. “Everything starts with your feet. If you can’t keep moving, then you’re done.” He explained to me that his strategy was to keep his socks on for the duration of his climb, with one pair of mountaineering socks for the four or five days it takes to reach the higher camps.

“I also take one spare set for the summit, the last day, just to be nice and cozy and fresh,” he said. If all went well, that last warm pair would carry him into a four-minute flight off the mountain.

Toes Intact All Season Long

As the season wore on and temperatures soared to unseasonable highs, the Khumbu Glacier turned to slush beneath my Crocs. Right as climbers began their summit pushes, a fast-moving virus swept through basecamp. I was doubled over in my tent, coughing hard enough to worry about broken ribs. At least half the camp lost their voices, and dry, raw throats made conversations comically painful. A black market for throat lozenges quickly took shape.

Still, hundreds of climbers made it to the summit and back safely — the vast majority with all their toes intact. As for me, I’d fulfilled a dream: covering the Everest season from basecamp itself. My feet? Warm and dry the entire time.

About the Author

Ben is a writer, National Geographic Explorer, journalist, and humanitarian based in Nepal for over 25 years. In addition to founding and managing two leading nonprofits in Nepal, Ben is an award-winning film producer and director. His films include The Last Honey Hunter (2017) which won 17 international awards and Snow Leopard Sisters (2025), which premiered at SXSW. His writing has appeared in leading global publications including National Geographic Magazine, Climbing, and Outside Magazine.