That is why people risk their lives for mountaineering – and this is how they become a danger

There is no such thing as 100 percent certainty in life. Only one thing is certain: death.

Former biathlete and mountaineer Laura Dahlmeier was also aware of this. Even more so, as she undertook some extremely difficult tours, climbing large and steep mountains in rain and snow. The state-certified mountain guide was always aware of the dangers, and fatal accidents in her community gave her cause for reflection .

It's incomprehensible to some that some people risk their lives for this high-risk sport. Why do people take these risks? What is the appeal of this hobby? Mountaineer and expedition leader Steve Kröger shares his insight into the world of this extreme sport in an interview with FOCUS online.

FOCUS online: How long have you been a mountaineer? What inspired you to take up this hobby?

Steve Kröger: I'm from Hamburg—a flat country—and originally only knew mountains from television. But even as a child, I dreamed of one day standing on a summit myself.

At the age of 30, I decided to no longer postpone this dream. I resolved to invest seven years of my life in climbing the highest mountains on every continent—the so-called 7 Summits. At the time, my motivation was also the question: How far can I really go physically, emotionally, and mentally?

Take us with you: How high were the highest mountains you have ever climbed?

Kröger: The peaks I've climbed include Kilimanjaro (5,896 meters), Elbrus (5,642 meters), Aconcagua (6,962 meters), Kosciuszko (2,228 meters), and Mount Vinson (4,892 meters). On Mount McKinley (6,196 meters), I had to turn back shortly before reaching the summit—a mental low showed me that it was better to let go.

In 2014, Mount Everest (8,848 meters) was on the agenda—the last of the seven. As I looked up at the Khumbu Glacier, I suddenly felt an inner voice saying, "It's too dangerous this year." I trusted this intuition and turned around.

Forty-eight hours later, 16 people died in an avalanche at this very spot. This moment became a pivotal experience for me—and it changed my life.

Were there any dangerous situations in which you considered quitting?

Kröger: Danger is always present in mountaineering—both objectively and subjectively. Objective dangers include avalanches, rockfall, extreme cold, or isolation. These are often unpredictable. Subjective dangers, on the other hand, arise from within ourselves: overconfidence, carelessness, or dogged ambition. Then we ourselves become a danger.

On Aconcagua in South America, I reached my physical and mental limits due to the altitude—and ignored my own warning signs. We started as a team of twelve, but only three of us reached the summit—I was one of them.

Looking back, it frightened me: I had put my health aside to achieve my goal at all costs. It made me realize how quickly dogged determination can become dangerous. This moment was crucial for me to recognize and accept my limits.

What makes this extreme sport so appealing?

Kröger: Many facets make it appealing: the feeling of freedom, the isolation, the deep connection with nature—and with oneself. Within the team, a strong sense of togetherness develops that supports and connects. When the movement becomes regular and everyday life fades into the background, a special intensity emerges—a state of deep vitality.

Sometimes this moment even becomes a spiritual experience: a silent encounter with something greater than oneself.

What does it feel like to stand on a summit?

Kröger: Everyone probably experiences it differently. For me, the special moments weren't on the summit itself, but somewhere along the way. Often it was a quiet, spiritual moment—marked by clarity, gratitude, and humility.

Especially in the isolation of the mountains, I realize how small we actually are – and how unimportant many of the things that concern us in everyday life are.

To be honest, I didn't find what I was hoping to find on the summits. I always thought I would experience happiness there—and that my life would somehow be better. But that wasn't the case.

For me personally, the journey over the highest mountains on our continents led me to a different question: What comes after the summit? And what actually gives my life meaning – beyond success?

Are mountaineers adrenaline junkies?

Kröger: Some, perhaps—but that also applies to people who strive for ever-greater success in their careers. Adrenaline gives us the feeling of being alive. And that definitely has a positive side.

It only becomes a concern when you become dependent on it – when there is nothing else that gives your life depth, meaning and a solid sense of direction.

Is there a certain type of person who pursues this hobby?

Kröger: I would say: people who enjoy challenging themselves. Who are willing to forgo comfort in order to experience something deeper. Among mountaineers, you find not only daredevils, but also seekers, thinkers, and quiet connoisseurs. What unites them, despite all their differences, is probably their longing for adventure.

Why take such a high risk?

Kröger: In all my adventures, I have this inner attitude: challenges should be in line with my abilities. This applies to both extreme sports and life, by the way. Taking blind risks is out of the question for me.

Instead, I prepare, train, and try to reflect as honestly as possible on whether continuing is responsible – or not. For me, it was never a game with death, but rather a conscious, respectful approach to my own limits.

In that respect, I consider it a calculated approach to risk, as in many other sports. I haven't observed people taking it particularly carelessly, especially in mountaineering.

How does it feel to know that despite all the preparation, there remains a residual risk?

Kröger: For me, that's a metaphor for life as a whole—we can't completely secure it. Even though we often try. Life is fragile—and that's precisely where its depth lies. I believe one of the greatest learning processes in life is finding a good way to deal with our own finiteness.

Some mountaineers have already written a will or a living will. Is that also the case for you?

Kröger: A will? No. A living will? Yes. I'm married and have two children, ages ten and nine. Everything important in my life is arranged in such a way that even without a will, there's currently clarity.

For me, confronting finiteness is something precious. It doesn't make it difficult for me; rather, it creates space for the questions: How can I achieve a good life? What should my life stand for later? Only against the backdrop of our finiteness does the present acquire its true value.

We will all die at some point—whether in extreme sports, from illness, or in old age. Accepting this reality doesn't make me anxious, but rather grateful—and constantly reminds me to ask myself: Am I living the life I truly want to live?

How do your family members deal with your passion?

Kröger: My family trusts me—in what I do and in what I don't do. They know and feel what truly matters in my life. When I imagine what I want to be written on my tombstone, it won't be: "He conquered all the peaks," but rather: "He was a good husband, a good father, a good person."

Is mountaineering a hobby – or an obsession?

Kröger: For me, it's neither a hobby nor an obsession. It's a path – an adventure – and sometimes also a mirror. A place where I encounter God, get closer to myself, and recognize my own limits. For me, climbing a mountain is never just about looking up – it's always about looking inward.