The Road to Sagarmatha,> by Adam Wilson, Xlibris Corporation, Indianapolis, IN 2011, 284 pages, hardcover, $29.99.

The bodies of those who succumb in the death zone of Mount Everest are left where they fall. At an altitude above 25,000 feet, at or near to the summit of the world’s highest peak, they are casualties of wind, cold, exhaustion and altitude sickness. They are left there by co-adventurers, guides, friends and even loved ones whose own lives are at stake if they don’t descend from the frigid, oxygen-deprived death zone fast enough. To descend with a dead body in tow is unthinkable.

Yet that’s exactly what a middle-aged number cruncher from the balmy flats of Florida sets out to do in Vineyard resident Adam Wilson’s new novel, The Road to Sagarmatha. The result is a crisp, action packed adventure, but also much more: an honest glimpse into friendship, loyalty and spirituality.

Strong and adventurous, Aaron Temple is an acclaimed photographer hired by Dave Horton, an old college classmate and outdoor magazine owner, to capture the 50th anniversary of the first successful ascent of Mount Everest by Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay. Dave wants Aaron to capture on film a phone call at the summit from Peter Hillary to his father Edmund. Near the top, Aaron founders. He barely gets the photographs. He is cold, so cold, with a throbbing headache and dulling senses. He collapses, struggles, sees his old classmate coming toward him . . .

Aaron dies on the mountain. The rest of the party survives. Did the mountain claim him? Did Dave have a reason to kill him? How could they leave his body there in the bitter cold, so far from home? These questions haunt Aaron’s “best friend and mirror opposite,” Hank Longo, a Florida accountant. Flashbacks from their college days onward flesh out the depth of Aaron and Hank’s friendship as well as their evolving animosity toward Dave.

A hurried memorial service arranged by Dave’s company leaves Hank, a quietly devout Christian, feeling empty and restless. He can’t get over Aaron’s death. In a dream, Hank is “shocked to discover Aaron dressed head-to-toe in a mountain climbing suit . . . covered with snow and violently shivering. As Aaron looked up from beneath the fur-lined hood of his parka, Hank glimpsed the frozen disfigured face.”

Aaron had a rough early life. His spiritual side was hard-earned and ultimately based on Buddhist teachings. He lived a reckless life, but Hank knew he had changed: “Before leaving for Nepal, Aaron was taking an account of his life. And for the first time ever, was looking at his future.”

In a quest for answers, for resolution, Hank hooks up with Umesh Bhuju, a Sherpa with experience climbing Mt. Everest. Sherpas, Umesh explains to Hank, “are one of many ethnic tribes who live in Nepal. Because we live in the northeastern part of the country and are adept at climbing and working in thin air, and also because of Tenzing Norgay, who climbed with Hillary, we are famously known for being the porters and guides for those who want to climb above 25,000 feet.”

Umesh also tells Hank that in Buddhist traditions mountains like Everest are sacred and not meant to be climbed. “For the people of Nepal, Everest is ‘Sagarmatha’, mother goddess of Earth.” He explains that for Buddhists an untimely death can cause one’s ghost to wander. “They are lost, and unaware they have died.” Hank admits to Umesh that, “I think he is waiting for me to do something.”

To the dismay of his wife, but with the help of Umesh and Aaron’s many and multitalented friends, Hank organizes a mountain climbing expedition to retrieve his friend’s body — to take the road to Sagarmatha. His choice means risking the lives of many to save the body, or spirit, of one. The assembled team is honored to be on board; Hank is climbing Everest not for a midlife adrenaline rush or mountain climbing bragging rights but for a genuine goal. As the team comes together the author, Mr. Wilson, quietly and mindfully mines the depths of love, friendship, and the value of allowing faith to lead one into uncharted territory.

As the hair-raising expedition begins Mr. Wilson’s attention to detail is riveting. The climbers face slow and painful acclimation to high altitudes, headaches, nausea, body aches, and below-zero temperatures. “Hank took an account of his physical condition. For a man who was about to embark on a climb to the highest point on the planet, he couldn’t have felt worse. The headache had returned. It reminded him of the hangover head bangers from college days. There was a muscle-stinging chill through his back and legs. His arms were weak from weeks of rope climbing, and the sensation to his fingertips was only slight; in his toes, it was gone.”

Mr. Wilson make abundantly clear the risks of climbing Mount Everest: clinging to life at 90-degree angles on sheer ice with an avalanche likely at any second, with nothing between life and death but boot cleats, ropes, and sheer, unadulterated will.

The leader of the male-dominated expedition is a woman and an experienced Everest climber: “Be very careful. East side drops ten-thousand-feet to Kangshung Glacier; west side drops eight-thousand-feet into Western Coom. Stay away from overhang, unless roped.”

Considering the depth of pain and endurance it takes to do so, few of us regular folks would likely muster the fortitude required to climb Mount Everest, even to save our dearest friend. But that is not the point of The Road to Sagarmatha. Mr. Wilson’s point, to this reader, is that we all have a well of courage, love and spiritual perception that is deeper than we know, and that while mining it may be frightening and fraught with pain, misgivings and doubt, it is a journey that can bring great rewards.

In every way, The Road to Sagarmatha is a rewarding read.

Adam Wilson is a resident of Oak Bluffs and the town coordinator for the town of Aquinnah. He has previously written four theatrical two-act plays, three of which have been produced, two on the Vineyard and one at Fairfield University in Connecticut. The lovely cover art for The Road to Sagarmatha was produced locally by Donna Macomber Blackburn.