Near-Death Experience While Ice Climbing: Peter Panagore’s Journey Beyond Death and Back

 Peter Panagore’s story begins with a near-fatal mistake. He and his climbing partner reached the top of an ice climb in the Canadian Rocky Mountains just as the sun set. 

The temperature plummeted—perhaps by 30 degrees or more—and though they were aware of the dangers of the wilderness, they were unprepared to spend the night exposed. What was meant to be a one-day ice climbing trip turned into a desperate survival situation.

Peter had grown up in Marlborough, Massachusetts, in a loving Greek-American family. He was the youngest of five, raised in a home filled with culture, tradition, and a strong sense of community. But his life changed when his older sister Andrea, whom he deeply admired, ran away from home during the cultural revolution of the '60s. 

Her departure devastated the family and left a lasting wound. Years later, Peter left home himself, joining a student exchange program that led him to Montana, where he immersed himself in outdoor activities—ski patrol, backcountry skiing, and mountaineering.

It was in Montana that he found a flyer for a ski and ice climbing trip in British Columbia and Alberta. He teamed up with a fellow outdoorsman, and together they embarked on what was meant to be a grand adventure. Despite lacking proper ice climbing gear—Peter used an ice axe and a hammer instead of two axes—they pressed on, confident in their survival skills. 

However, his unorthodox setup caused severe forearm fatigue, delaying their ascent. By the time they reached the summit, the sun was setting and most teams were already descending. But this climb had no easy descent; they had to follow a dangerous traverse and rappel route in the dark.

As night fell, hypothermia set in quickly. Shivering uncontrollably, jaws clattering, and speech impaired, they began traversing along a narrow ledge with a 500–600 foot drop. Mistakes followed. One crucial error: instead of using webbing to secure their rappel line to a tree, they looped the rope directly. 

When they tried to pull it free from the bottom, it was stuck. Peter’s partner, Tim, tried to climb back up the rope, but it was a risky move. Miraculously, a slip during his ascent yanked the rope free.

Exhausted, dehydrated, and starving, they reached a final rappel station—iron pins embedded in rock. As Peter tried to pull the rope after tossing the bitter end down, it jammed beyond reach. They were now stuck for real. Hypothermia advanced. 

Peter’s vision tunneled, speech became impossible, and he drifted in and out of consciousness, each time yanking himself back upright by his harness. Finally, he blacked out—except this time, he didn’t fall asleep. He was still conscious.

What followed was a profound near-death experience. In the blackness, Peter saw a distant point of light that rushed toward him with immense speed. This presence communicated not with words but with a powerful transmission: “I’m taking you.” Though he resisted, the presence’s will overpowered his. A portal—like a waterfall of light—opened, drawing him in with irresistible love, beauty, and power.

In that space, Peter first entered a personal “hell.” He experienced the pain he had caused others in his life from their perspective—and his own at the time—simultaneously. But he was not judged. A loving, all-knowing presence surrounded and filled him, whispering with wordless intimacy, “I know you. I’ve always known you.” He was shown that no matter what he had done, he was still beloved.

Then, in a vast expansion of awareness, Peter was carried to the edge of heaven. From there, he saw the entire universe, and beyond it, other universes. He saw Earth as a living hologram filled with every human being alive, each one uniquely loved. 

Inside every person, he saw a golden light—the divine spark—but it was hidden by a thick fog of separation. He was told that the overwhelming love he felt was for every one of them equally.

He was filled with joy, beauty, and completeness beyond words. Then the perspective shifted. He remembered his parents’ suffering—the loss of his sister and the grief they would endure if he died too. He asked if he had to go back. 

The voice responded, “Why?” He explained his concern for his parents. Instantly, he was carried toward his return and shown multiple possible lives he could choose. He picked one—not fully immersed in light, but with some autonomy.

In a flash, Peter was thrust back into his physical body like a massive force packed into a tiny container. He awoke with pain, trapped in a human body again. Tim was crying and yelling—he thought Peter had died. Somehow, the rope was now free. They descended and sought shelter in their tent, using warm water and food to slowly recover from hypothermia.

Peter said nothing of his experience for a long time. He lacked the words and feared disbelief. But everything had changed. He began to seek understanding, exploring meditation, ancient texts, mysticism, and interior silence. 

He practiced daily, diving into the self to uncover the light he had seen in heaven. Over time, the light within him grew, helping him see the same divine light in others.

Even now, Peter says he lives each day knowing that death is not the end but a return to the source of all love. “Today is a good day to die,” he says, not from despair, but from the unshakable knowledge of what waits beyond. That knowledge gives him strength, a quiet superpower, to keep going—even in suffering—because he’s already seen how the story ends: in love.